100th Annual Hunger Games
by Oli2Fab4U
Summary: "On the one hundredth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even victories withhold horrors and difficulties, the male and female tributes will be reaped from the offspring of the district's Victors within the eligible reaping ages."
1. Chapter 1

_President Octavia Basilicus, Capitol_

Quarter Quells are always intense. The Capitol loves them, the Districts fear them. They serve as a reminder of the rebellion and how the horrors are ever changing. Since the last Quell the criteria has changed. Long gone has the need to tailor the Quell to consolidate power and now it is down to what will generate the most viewing pleasure.

The first quell was the Districts choosing their tributes, reminding them that the rebels chose to sacrifice their children in the rebellion. The second quell was double the tributes, to remind the Districts that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen. The most recent quell, the third quell, was that victors re-entered the arena, to remind the Districts that even the most powerful amongst them are subjected to the Capitol's will. Each served the purpose of keeping power, now the Districts know rebellion is futile. We destroyed District Thirteen a second time and it's made clear we won't hesitate to destroy another.

The crowd on a normal Hunger Games surprises me, but as I step onto my podium the amount of people I am faced with is, quite honestly, breathtaking. I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said that half of the Capitol's population were before me, craning to get a glimpse of me - to see what the Quell is. There's an almost unbearable amount of cheering to which I raise my hands, silencing them. It gets so quiet, if one was to drop a coin, it would echo.

I begin by recalling our past quells and I can see a few of them nod. We barely have any who were alive during the first quell, we have a larger amount who remember the second and most before me remember the third - even if they didn't, reruns of the quells happen every so often.

I present the letter on my podium to the crowd, the cheering starting again. This is the moment they've been waiting for - the moment I've been waiting for. My first quell as President of Panem.

"On the one hundredth anniversary," I say, speaking as I read to ensure that I don't stumble on my words, "As a reminder to the rebels that even victories withhold horrors and difficulties, the male and female tributes will be reaped from the offspring of the district's victors within the eligible reaping ages."

The crowd is quiet before a roar of approval explodes. I smile, wave, and take my leave.

This year's Hunger Games will be extremely interesting indeed.


	2. District One Reaping

_Wednesday Diamante, District One Female, 17 years old_

The long awaited fourth quarter quell was _made_ for me. If you didn't know, I hail from a long line of victors and this year I'm eligible for reaping because of my mother, Carmela, and her victory. Everybody in District One knows about my family. We're royalty and I make sure everybody knows it.

The trainers in the academy toss me some bones; they like to bring the attention of the other tributes to me and I don't complain - I love being the centre of attention. Talk about me positively, talk about me negatively - I don't care! At least you're talking _about_ me.

"You volunteering today?" One of the trainers, Alexandre, asks me, knowing full well I intend to.

"Of course!" I say as I spar with him, "I love the fact it makes the reaping more inclusive - makes volunteering easier!"

My loud and over the top voice draws some attention to me and I can see others rolling their eyes or tutting. I don't care, really; they'll change their tune as soon as I come home the victor.

"Careers?" He presses on, a smirk on his face. He likes to stir the pot - that's his trademark. He's good at that, too.

"The leader of them," I reply, holding my head high and for a moment I let myself imagine I'm on stage with Elbora Royal, the host of the Games.

What I do with my face causes a few snickers to arise round the training floor but I don't pay them any attention. As I said, I'll let my actions do the talking for me.

Alexandre and I spar for a few more minutes before the training is called off for the morning so those who are able to attend the reaping can go home and prepare. I make sure to wave all my trainers goodbye, telling them that I'll see them soon and, when I come back, if they need any help I'll be happy to oblige. They humour me and nod, laughing with me.

As I walk to my house in the Victor's Village I see that all the TVs set up around the district to show the reaping are currently playing back the victories of the current living victors. I seem to be lucky because as I watch the screen it shows my mother and her victory. I've seen the moment hundreds - no, thousands - of times and it still makes me as happy as it made me the very first time I watched it.

There my mother is, nursing her wounds, before running spontaneously and joining her partner, Orpheus, in the fight against the boy from Eight, Shadow. Then it happens. People think she goes in for the kill on Shadow but she betrays Orpheus, stabbing him in the heart and nearly decapitating Shadow in a single swing of her sword. As both bodies drop around her she looks regal, like a queen. No. Empress.

I can't feel prouder when other members of the public watch the same moment, some grimace and some cheer. This is the legacy I was chosen to carry on. Well, behind my siblings. After the clip of my mother is shown my sister's victory is shown. Serenity, Victor of the 96th Hunger Games. _Technically_ she's also eligible for reaping as the child of a former victor, but I'm lucky that her own victory a few years back negates her from being able to be reaped. It makes my time to shine even brighter. Serenity looks just as beautiful and captivating as my mother did as she makes her own final kills.

I'll be there too, they'll see. I'll be the better version of Serenity - one closer to my mother's perfection. Mark my words.

* * *

 _Aluxor "Alux" Gleam, District One Male, 18 years old_

My siblings and I train together often. We're all children of the infamous 'Brandius the Brute' and we like to show that we're able to keep that going.

Everyone in District One knows me. Everyone in the Capitol knows me and everyone knows this is my quell. This is the time I have to shine and promise to the Capitol that I'll forever be their golden boy.

I don't mean to brag, well, I do, but I'm the best District One has to offer. The most popular? Check. Got the legacy and the skills to back it up? Check. Going to get the most sponsors because I'm irresistible? I'm a triple threat baby. All the other tributes should fear my name.

"You better win," My sister, Chantelle, tells me as we engage in a mock sword fight, "Keep dad's legacy going strong. Think you'll be as brutal as him?"

Everyone knows how my father one. Brandius Gleam, Victor of the 79th Hunger Games. His Games lasted a mere six days and he racked up a total of nineteen kills. Never has there been such a killing machine like my father. He killed the final tribute, the girl from Eight, mercilessly and his humble dream of helping our his family economically came true. Brandius the Brute, yet with the best intentions of winning.

"Maybe not as directly brutal, that'll be predictable," I say as I disarm her with ease, kicking her sword back up so we can resume, "Maybe I'll be a little sneakier? Kill the other Careers in their sleep when they've done the dirty work."

Chantelle smiles at me and nods, "Definitely the way to go about it."

We continue to spar until our mother, a District Two native who's fit right in here in One, calls us for breakfast.

Being part of a family of Victors means you can have whatever you want for breakfast so, naturally, we go all out. The remnants of a party I threw a few days ago remain in the kitchen but my parents look past it, purely because they know they'll have the chance to scold me when I come home.

"Make us proud Alux," My father says as he digs into the food in front of him, barely letting my mother place food on his plate, "Show them what we see."

"The best tribute District One's ever seen?" I say laughing, "Besides you, of course."

My father nods, a smile dominating his face, "Exactly."

"I'll make sure the Bloodbath is what it's meant to be - a bath."

My family laughs and we share a small toast of some extremely high-class, expensive champagne. When you're in the Victor's Village there's no restrictions.

I hope my female partner isn't one I've hooked up with - that'll make things messy and nobody wants drama attached to them before they enter the arena.

* * *

 _Magnesia Dollepart, District One Escort_

The district square is as busy as it always is on the reapings but this time there's more on the outside of the square rather than on the inside. I can see the crowd stretching back into the streets and alleyways of District One. For a Career district, this quell is exhilarating, a chance for one district to rise above the others and claim dominance in producing lineages of victors.

"On the one hundredth anniversary," I announce, silencing the crowd from in front of me to the doors of people everywhere. We're the first impression of the Fourth Quarter Quell - let's be extravagant. "As a reminder to the rebels that even victories withhold horrors and difficulties, the male and female tributes will be reaped from the offspring of the district's victors within the eligible reaping ages."

The crowd before me bursts into a cheer and I make sure to move my long, purple hair strategically to show my face more.

We're allowed to skip over the infamous video which is both disappointing and exciting to me. Disappointing because I love that film, love it more than any Capitolian drama, but exciting because we get to see who District One's tributes are! There's a lot of brutal victors here and we're sure to get some strong contenders, though that's nothing new.

"As always, ladies first!"

I move to the bowl full of the female names with perfected precision. My hand moves daintily in the significantly fewer pieces of pearl white paper until I raise a single piece up. I look at it analytically before presenting it to the district. They're hushed as I return to in front of the microphone. I open the piece of paper slowly. Whatever happens I know there'll be a large amount of screams to volunteer. That's the fun part of being the One escort - you get to pick from that.

"Daughter of Glitter Bauble, Victor of the 69th Hunger Games," I read, "Merrigold Bauble!"

Glitter wasn't a popular victor and it's no surprise that her daughter receives a silent treatment. Even more so as she emerges from the twelve-year-old's section with a nervous look on her face. I glance back to Glitter who looks scared, though she doesn't need to be. Before Merrigold can move two feet there are screams of 'I volunteer!' from the girls at the back, the older girls. I choose the loudest one - a girl with long, brown hair who strides up to the stage as if it's her walk to the shops to get the daily essentials.

"What's your name dear?"

She smiles at me triumphantly before addressing the cameras, "Wednesday Diamante, daughter of Carmela, Victor of the 66th Annual Hunger Games!"

I smile as I hold up her hand, presenting her to the district. The daughter of one victor and sister of another. There'll be high expectations on Wednesday's shoulders.

The choosing of the male tributes is a lot less dramatic.

Like with the female names, I choose one name graciously and present it overbearingly to the audience who laugh a little at my shtick. They love me here and I love them. It's a great mutual relationship.

"Son of Brandius Gleam, Victor of the 79th Hunger Games," I read, feeling myself get excited because of of Brandius the Brute's children is entering the arena, hopefully, "Aluxor Gleam!"

Nobody dares challenge Aluxor's reaping and it becomes clear that he would've volunteered anyway. He's the next biggest thing in the Capitol, a place that'll be solidified if he wins. Brandius is loved and so is he. I raise his hand like I did Wednesday's and the district cheers.

I instruct the two tributes to shake hands and they do so, causing louder cheers to erupt.

District One has some strong contenders this year and I won't be surprised if one of them and I end up touring the districts on the Victory Tour.

* * *

 **So there we have the first pair, Aluxor and Wednesday!**

 **I haven't forgotten about these Games! I've just been captivated with my other ones.**

 **Thank you to gameshungerplayer and Apollostjames for submitting them respectively! I hope I did them justice.**

 **For those reading and have submitted, please do opinion charts! I love seeing how people receive the tributes.**

 **We still have some spots to fill, as indicated on my profile, so if you're just seeing this story for the first time please do submit!**

 **Like my 70th HG, these chapters may contain spelling errors or grammatical errors because, simply, I'm in exam season and I don't have time to write as much, let alone check them. I'll make sure to return at a later date and change it but for now I hope you can all see why I'm doing it and won't mind!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy~!**

 **-Oli**


	3. District Two Reaping

_Arial "Ari" Marbler-Tiberius, District Two Female, 18 years old_

I should probably be at home, given the nature of this year's quell. I intend to volunteer - why wouldn't I? I've trained to volunteer and, really, the smaller reapee pool makes things easier. I know a few feisty characters now don't have the chance to volunteer, thankfully. Instead of being at home with my family, probably celebrating my father's victory - well the best we can at least - I'm in the courtyard of the district's academy, sparring with my boyfriend, Antonio.

He throws up clay pigeons every so often for me to shoot down with a bow and, as expected, I don't miss a single one even when he gets zealous with his throws.

"You're gonna come back, right?" He asks, smiling at me. He's always been my number one fan and he's said he's been saving money so can donate it to sponsors. How? I don't know but being from Two there'll be a way.

"Do you know who you're talking to?" I scoff, smiling and rolling my eyes affectionately. He's doing it to boost my ego, I know that and we both know I don't need it, but it's a nice gesture all the same.

He laughs and nods, "The future victor of the one hundredth Hunger Games, obviously."

I nod in approval and we continue to practise.

Even when the bell goes off, signalling that I need to return home, I don't want to. Why? It's just so distant. My mother's an alcoholic and, really, if you're not a bottle of beer or fuelling her habits, she doesn't pay much attention to you. My elder sister, Cima, doesn't pay too much attention to the family and if I'm honest I don't blame her; we're not exactly the most glamorous victor family in Two. My younger brother, Quintus, is shy and spends most of his time practising so there's not much point there. And then there's my father.

My father, Marlon Tiberius, Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, suffers from nightmares. Nightmares caused from his time in the arena. My father's Games weren't the most intense but they weren't lackadaisical either. Average, is the best way I can describe it. I don't undermine it though - something must've happened that caused him to be the way he is. We all tiptoe around him, partially because his nightmares make him somewhat unpredictable.

That's why I don't like going home much - there's not much point to it.

There's not any point today, either.

After saying goodbye to Antonio, kissing him goodbye at my door, I walk in and find the rerun of the living Victors' games on the TV. Sure enough I catch the lasting few moments of my father stabbing the District Seven male to death, making him the victor. Quintus watches intently, making notes or something. As I said, he's always practising. My mother's nowhere to be seen but some rummaging and bangs in another room indicates that she's in there, more than likely drinking. My father, like other Victors, have gone to the square in advance so he's not here to greet me.

My family knows my intentions and the only approval I get are solitary nods from my siblings as I pass Quintus in the living room and Cima making breakfast for us.

Maybe when I win there'll be some changes around here.

* * *

 _Hyperion Petra, District Two Male, 18 years old_

There's a lot riding on me this year. I've got a legacy to uphold. A legacy my mother's fine with letting go but one my father insists we need. Two of my three siblings attempted to continue it. Ares succeeded - he's a fairly recent victor. My sister, Elladora? Not so lucky. She got to the final five and died. My other brother, Scorpius, hadn't volunteered which left my father infuriated.

You'd think with the way that my father acts that he's the victor when, actually, he's just an ex-Peace Keeper who gave up his chance to volunteer. No my mother, Phoebe, won the 67th Hunger Games. Looking at my mother now, her kinder demeanour and loving nature, you wouldn't imagine that she was a vicious killer her fought with her former ally, a girl from Eleven, to the very end _and_ killing her as if it was nothing. She loves me in ways my father doesn't.

I need to please my father. Not only to make up for Elladora's death and Scorpius not volunteering but also to find his approval. I crave his approval and if winning the Games is how I'm going to achieve it? Then so be it.

Breakfast after training is rather optimistic. Cheerful and airy. My mother seems to have a heavy heart but we all know she doesn't want me to go.

"Just do your best Hyperion," She says as she pokes at the food on her plate with her fork, "Come back home to us, please."

Scorpius doesn't say anything and Apollo's not here; he's got his own family so he's not with us.

"Of course he will!" My father says before I can reply to her. He beams at me in a way that's unusual for me, "He's got a pretty good fighting chance. Just follow your mother's lead."

My mother shrinks a little in demeanour; she hates remembering her Games.

"I will," I nod, smiling at her. I want to reassure her that I'll come home because I do, regardless of my father's praise or not.

She nods and smiles softly, sadly. You can tell she doesn't want me to go in but I've confided in my reasons to her and she respects it. As I said, she loves me in ways that nobody else does.

The breakfast continues rather seamlessly, thankfully. For once my father doesn't decide to verbally degrade me in front of my mother and Scorpius and we actually manage to have some family banter.

It's a little bittersweet that this is my lasting memory of my family for a while - why couldn't they be like this sooner?

* * *

 _Maximus Adora, District Two Escort_

Escorting for District Two is _so_ easy! They pick out their victors beforehand so there's not the chaos that comes with One or Four. It's all very neat, very professional - something to be expected from the district with the most victors.

The whole reaping is crowded; the square is crowded with potential tributes because there is such a large amount of victors. The stage is crowded with all the victors - we've had to request for an extension to be added onto the stage this year, just to fit them all on! And the streets for miles are filled to the brim with people, craning to get a glimpse at the volunteers. Nobody knows who'll volunteer bar the potential tributes, myself, and the families of those chosen. It's all hush hush to generate the maximum amount of excitement.

When I repeat the quell the district erupts into applause, cheers of approval. Although they don't need to, it seems as if District Two wants to prove to people that they create the best victors. The whole of Panem knows that; one more victory isn't going to change that.

I'm glad to skip the video - I'm not a massive fan of it and I find it bores me a little which risks ruining the mood for the grand spectacle itself.

I pull my red gloves, tightening them against my skin as I march over to the bowl full of female names. Unlike other districts I have a large amount to choose from, mostly because the victors here get with each other, meaning their children have their name in twice. I pick a name without really caring, returning back to my microphone.

"Our female tribute, daughter of Hera Masonus, Victor of the 60th Hunger Games, is Rianan Snap!" I announce, watching as a girl from the sixteen-year-olds section walks, waiting for the designated tribute to volunteer.

Sure enough, a single shout of "I volunteer!" can be heard. A slightly tanned girl with long brown hair jogs to the stage with ease, acting as if it's nothing.

"Please introduce yourself dear," I say, encouraging her to make the most of the Capitol's first introduction to her.

"My name is Arial Marbler-Tiberius," She says, beaming at the crowd before her, "Daughter of the Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, Marlon Tiberius!"

Again, the crowd breaks out into applause as Marlon is among the more popular victors. As expected, he steps forward and stands just behind his daughter to the side, placing his hand on her shoulder. He, like all parents, will be mentoring his child and seeing them through the arena.

I walk to the boys bowl and pick a name with even less care than I had done before. It doesn't matter, so why place emphasis on it? I'm not the Escort for District Twelve; I don't need to generate excitement.

"Our male tribute, son of Opalle Lioneira, Victor of the 58th Hunger Games, is Knox Lioneira!"

A weedy small looking boy from the twelve-year-old's section walks forward and it takes even less time for his volunteer to step forward.

A fairly tall boy who's broad and toned with longer hair and deep olive skin walks to the stage.

Like before, I prompt him to introduce himself.

"I'm Hyperion Petra, son of Phoebe Lux, Victor of the 67th Hunger Games!" He says, smiling at the audience.

His mother, Phoebe, walks forwards and apprehensively puts her hand on her son's shoulder. She's known for being among our more humane, kinder victors but remains a fan favourite.

I instruct the two to shake hands and District Two applauds heavily. I think they would either way and it only helps that the tributes this year look powerful enough to make their dreams of a continuation of assertion of dominance on the other districts true.

* * *

 **Our District Two pair! I like how both aren't the conventional pair and don't worry, Hyperion's secret will be revealed later on!**

 **Thank you so much to SapphireMoon4 and Apollostjames for submitting Ari and Hyperion respectively!**

 **We've nearly got all the tributes so soon I'll be able to pump out the chapters!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy~!**

 **-Oli**


	4. District Three Reaping

_Theadora Edison, District Three Female, 17 years old_

The Quell's brought my family closer; if that's possible. We've always been close but the quell, narrowing the reaping pool that usually makes me chances of being reaped next to nothing, has changed that. Since the announcement a week ago we've done nearly everything together. I'm the only one that can be reaped; all my siblings are older and are safe.

Sadly, there's not many victors with kids in the age categories in District Three. From what my father said apparently there's only three boys eligible for reaping. There's a few more for the girls - there's five of us and three of them are sisters.

Usually on a reaping morning my parents and myself would be in the lab at our home creating something; it's how we bond. As I said, there's never really been the worry of me being reaped because, compared to some kids, the amount of times my name is in the bowl is barely a shadow of their's. But no, today we sit in the living room with some toast on our laps watching my father's Games.

My father won the 64th Hunger Games and I'm quite proud of it, if I'm honest. He won without killing a single person and managed to ally with the Careers. Many people say I'm like him - a golden child of District Three. I'll remember that if I'm reaped - maybe the legacy of him being charming'll help me. The tape cuts at the point where my father is announced the victor, the smile on his face is unmissable. One can only imagine the relief victors feel, especially when they're a non-Career.

My father turns to me, smiling softly, " _If_ you're reaped, Thea, what'll be your plan?"

I remain silent for a few seconds, trying to generate a quick plan, "Like you - pacifism."

The answer makes him and my mother beam, clearly proud of my answer. That makes me smile; all I ever want to do is make them proud.

"You'll be fine, don't worry," My mother says, leaning over and rubbing soothing circles in my upper arm.

My nails are digging into my palms, a tick I have when I get nervous. I won't deny it - I'm terrified. For me, the reaping pool has gone from hundreds to just five and, like me, the other girls won't have taken any tesserae so there's a one in five chance that my name'll be drawn.

My father nods, running a hand through my hair, "You'll be fine."

He turns to my mother and smiles, "Maybe we should go out for lunch?"

My mother nods and I smile, grateful at their attempt to calm me down.

"Now," My mother says, nodding upstairs, "Go and get changed."

* * *

 _Dell Vodafone, District Three Male, 14 years old_

This reaping day isn't like any other for me, even if it is the quell - a quell where I have a one in three chance of being reaped. Like always, I stay in my room amongst the junk I find around the district and attempt to make any and all contraptions.

I've made loads of things, from working gadgets to replicas of the traps my father used in his Hunger Games. I've actually timed myself against him when making them and I can construct quicker than he did and that gives me slight hope that I'll be able to hold my own in the arena, just a little bit.

The thing I'm working on at the moment is trying to turn a toaster into a fully working mini oven. It sounds easier than it is but I like a challenge; it gives me more motivation to become more determined.

"Dell! Come down for breakfast!"

My father's voice pulls me from my work and I'm ready to snap at him for distracting me but I remember how hard it must be for him; two of the three eligible male tributes are his sons so I think he's come to the realisation it'll be either myself or my brother, Boeing.

I trudge down the stairs, still not overly happy that I'm being brought away from my work but I digress.

"Hey," My father smiles at me as I take my place at the dining table, "How're you feeling?"

I shrug, attempting to flash the same smile back, "Good, I guess."

His smile turns a little more sympathetic as he puts a plate of food in front of me, patting my shoulder a few times before squeezing it and going off to do something.

My brother and I remain silent as we eat, neither one of us finding the words to start or carry on a conversation. Again, it's understandable. We both know that one of us is going to go into the arena and the silence is just fine with me; I'm more introverted than extroverted so the less time spent speaking is better for me.

We continue to eat in silence until our aunt comes and calls us into the living room. I don't need to be in the room to guess it's probably a rerun of our father's victory.

And, sure enough, it is.

We see how our father lost his ally, an ally from Six, when it came to the final ten and, from there, constructed a bunch of traps and screamed to draw the other tributes close to him. A few of them died from his traps and in the end it was only him and the girl from Two. From what he says, many expected him to die there and then but she got trapped and he was able to slit her neck with his knife. Judging from the interviews, he's a bit like me which makes it slightly harrowing but, if you were in the same situation, I'm sure anyone would do anything to survive.

The ending shot is of him dropping the knife as he's announced the winner.

Boeing and myself both turn to our father who begins to give us a plan if we're reaped which, I think by now, he knows is inevitable.

* * *

 _Adabella de Monte, District Three Escort_

The first thought that comes to me as I stand over the stage and announce the quell is the lack of reapees; three boys and five girls. The rest of the district's population goes far back into the streets, filling the over-crowded square with even more ease now that most of the teenagers aren't up for reaping. Behind me on stage stand the current living victors with kids - there's only five of them.

It's to be expected, really. In the Games District Three either does really well but always falls short or have tributes fall in the Bloodbath. It's a shame, really. Some of them look like fighters.

"As always," I say, skipping most of the formalities because part of the Quell is to do the reapings to how the Districts would see them and Three just likes to cut to the chase, "Ladies first."

I walk over to the bowl and see five names, picking the one that's slightly off centre than the rest. I glance at the girls when doing so and I can see that three of them look nearly identical, as if they're sisters. That'd explain the lack of victors behind me.

I walk back to the microphone and open the piece of paper.

"Our female tribute, daughter of Dax Edison, Victor of the 64th Hunger Games," I announce, "is Theodora Edison!"

The girl who looks rather healthy, rather beautiful, with bright orange hair begins to walk to the stage. She seems to be a crowd favourite in the District because the people in the audience gasp and shake their heads, murmurs happening nearly instantly. She walks with elegance, a poise that's unseen from a District Three tribute before. She even smiles a little bit; an evil smile almost, one that might be intended for people to not consider her weak. Her nails are digging into her palms though and I only notice it as I analyse her up and down.

When she takes her place beside me her father, Dax, steps forward and places his hand on her shoulder and squeezes it, the two sharing a quick glance.

I nod at the district who shake their heads, some even crying, and make my way to the bowl full of the male names. There's only three that are laid out in a neat row. I take the one in the middle.

"Our male tribute," I say when I return to the centre of the stage, "Son of Pensar Vodafone, Victor of the 83rd Hunger Games, is Dell Vodafone!"

There's a gasp from the boy with the wispier black hair out of the three and everyone looks at him. Slowly, he makes his way to the stage and when he's by my side he begins to hyperventilate. Pensar walks forward and hugs him, whispering things to calm him down as he does the same action as Dax; putting a hand on his child's shoulder.

"Tributes, you make shake hands!" I announce and the two turn to look at each other before the shake hands cautiously.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!"

* * *

 **District Three is done!**

 **Sorry about the lateness of this update; I've had three of my exams and this is the only time I can update without _too_ much of an interruption!  
**

 **As always, sorry for the mistakes; I'll get back to them later!**

 **I like this pair; thank you 66samvr and Irew2376 for them!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy~!**

 **-Oli**


	5. District Four Reaping

_Akira Tulius, District Four Female, 16 years old_

It's almost as if, somehow, the Capitol knows about Zale and I's rivalry. Of _course_ the quell would make the reaping pool smaller but still pit us against each other. It'll be tough competition to get there but imagine having a legacy solidified in glory? Zale likes to think he'll be that person but I have other ideas.

Ultimately, Zale's wholly competitive and that'll be his downfall in the Games. He's the brawn and I'm the brains. His need to establish himself as a threat is probably why he's swinging his trident around viciously on the other side of our training room, probably aiming to intimidate me. It's not working, not really. Mostly because I don't take as much notice of him as I used to. I can't believe I used to idolise him. It's only now that I realise he'll be the Career that'll get a little too antsy with the male from Two and get himself killed. I, on the other hand, will patiently wait my turn to strike. I'm not patient, slow and mundane situations bore me immensely, but I know that if I need to play a mindless, excitable Career until I can strike and kill then that's what I'll do.

While Zale swings his trident about, jabbing at his trainer in what looks to be calculated strikes, I take up my bow and arrow and start shooting at the clay pigeons my trainer throws in the air. One, two, three. I don't miss a single one and clay shatters on the floor. My trainer looks over at me and then at Zale before making a throwing motion with his hand. I get what he wants to do and I nod, grinning to myself.

He throws a clay pigeon in Zale's direction, aiming above his head. Naturally, I shoot the pigeon down easily and clay falls around Zale. He's usually explosive but today he has a staunch look on his face and I think I can hear him mutter 'brat' under his breath. I giggle and give my trainer a high five which earns me a glare from my older brother.

"Cheer up buttercup," I say as I collect the arrows from around the room, loading them back into the sheath that my trainer holds before me, "Can't be too red with anger when the cameras come out."

"Shut up," He snarls, a glare being kept on me. In return I smile brightly and give him a small wave as I leave the room.

I made sure to finish training early so I could spend the rest of the morning getting ready for the reaping. I need to look my best; if I'm going to be sixteen and volunteering over eighteen year olds I need to show them why I'm more deserving than they are. I definitely want to upstage Zale because I know as soon as I establish myself as the female tribute that he'll volunteer, fighting anyone if he has to.

As I said, his desire to compete at everything and more importantly outshine _me_ will be his downfall. Everyone knows that and I like to think that, secretly, everyone's rooting for me over him. I know I would be.

* * *

 _Zale Tulius, District Four Male, 18 years old_

By the time I finish showering and getting changed for the reaping it's close to us having to leave. Unlike Akira I don't need to rely on elaborate hairstyles and makeup to make myself look appealing - I'm naturally handsome. I'll do what happens between us all the time; beat her. She's the second sibling for a reason - second best. You can't replace the original.

When I come down the stairs for breakfast both she, my parents and younger brother Narayan are at the table eating breakfast with my father's Games on the TV.

I stand in the doorway as I watch the final moments of his Games. How the girl from District Two, Steele, begs him for an honourable death. He refuses at first but, eventually, slits her neck and it's what makes him the victor. He lost his left ear in the final match against the girl from One but that didn't stop him from winning. That's how I want to win - seemingly against all odds and proving myself to be the best of the best. I'll be a better victor than he was and ever will be, that's a promise.

My parents try to speak to me throughout breakfast and I give them short answers, nearly going post-verbal at times in hopes they'll back off. Akira, annoyingly, doesn't let them.

"You know not to speak to him when he's in his head," She says, sending a smirk my way before looking innocently at our parents, "You don't want to distract him, do you?"

Our parents look at each other, trying to decide what the best course of action is. They know Akira and myself have an intense rivalry but they also fall for her innocent act. It's hard not too. I guess she's got that going for her.

My mother shoots me a sympathetic smile and leaves me be, encouraging my father from the table and leaving me and my siblings alone.

Nayaran eats his breakfast quietly, eyes flickering from the TV which now shows my father's crowning to Akira and myself. Akira doesn't need to look at me to know she's annoying me, she knows just her presence is enough to make me agitated.

"Maybe you should've made more of an effort Zale," She comments looking over at me with a small smile.

"Why?" I say after a few seconds, biting the bullet.

"Because when you volunteer after I have, let's just say I'll be getting all the sponsors. Looks are everything, you know."

I grit my teeth and before I can lash out she walks off, Nayaran following soon after as to not face my anger. He's a smart kid - smarter than her.

* * *

 _Urial Wynterwood, District Four Escort_

District Four may not have as many victors as District One or Two, but it has some of the strongest fighters. I look at the selection of tributes before me as I announce the quell; they all look strong. Even the potential future tributes in the wings look strong. Swimming gives our tributes a better advantage.

The sound of the waves gives the reaping, as it always does, an oddly melodic and peaceful vibe. Volunteers here have gotten a lot more controlled from before; now instead of shouting over each other constantly and me having to pick, the first tribute to establish themselves as a volunteer gets it. Whether that be shouting the loudest, punching someone or making into the aisle the quickest, it's far more civilised.

There's still a large selection of tributes before me; everyone knows Career Victors tend to be more fruitful in the children they give back to the district and subsequently I have a decent amount to choose from.

I announce that I'll be choosing the female tribute first and, amongst the cheers, I walk to the bowl.

I never look when I choose the piece of paper, it's virtually pointless. I dig my hand in deep and pull a random piece out, walking back to the stage with a smile on my face.

I open my mouth to announce the tribute when the volunteer calls commence. See? This is why I never bother.

A girl with chestnut brown hair practically leaps into the aisle and a lot of people around her cheer. I see she's quite a popular tribute then. She wastes no time in jogging up to the stage and flashing multiple smiles at multiple cameras.

"What's your name?" I ask her whilst showing her off to the district.

"Akira Tulius, daughter of the Victor of the 82nd Hunger Games - Jorah Tulius!" She beams, causing applauds to break out amongst the crowd.

Her father, the one without an ear, steps forward and places a hand on his daughter's shoulder, looking proud. The other victors look annoyed, probably because their kid won't be able to uphold a legacy.

I nod and repeat the action to the boys' names.

To my surprise I'm able to open the name and read it out, as if the male reapees are waiting to see who's reaped before leaping at the chance.

"Son of Jorah Tulius, Victor of the 82nd Hunger Games," I read, feeling myself get excited because siblings in the Games are always fun, "Zale Tulius!"

A tall male from the eighteen-year-old's section steps forward, glaring down anyone who attempts to volunteer. You can tell he's annoyed, probably because he wanted to volunteer himself. Some of the reapees cower in fear and it's clear that this tribute, like his sister, has made an impression on those in District Four.

When he reaches the stage I show him off like I did his sister and instruct the two to shake hands after his father stands between them.

They glare at each other though Akira has a mischievous smile on her face as they shake hands. Their hands go white with how hard they're squeezing and it takes their father to pull them apart for them to let go. Neither shakes their hand or makes any indication of pain.

This'll be interesting for sure.

* * *

 **District Four is done!**

 **I really like this duo - thank you to Golden Moon Huntress for submitting them! I like that they have the sibling rivalry but taken to the extreme - it's a lot of fun to write!**

 **When I read through their submissions I got the impression that Akira's the type to wind her brother up and I hope I was able to portray that!**

 **District Five will be coming soon! And, to those who have had reservations, they have ran out and some irl friends have courteously given me bloodbath tributes to fill those spots so the SYOT is officially CLOSED!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy~!**

 **-Oli**


	6. District Five Reaping

_Henrielle Fireband, District Five Female, 15 years old_

I'm not _completely_ obsessed with my father's victory; I just like to know where I came from and what makes me different from the rest of my District. There's a reason I'm different - my family is better than everyone else's.

I make sure to watch the moving pictures on the TV screen carefully. My father, only fifteen years old, stalks behind a tribute. They're the only other one left and, when they die, my father will be crowned victor. I've watched this part hundreds of times; I could probably tell you where he steps and when. One step. Two steps. Three steps. BOOM! The cannon goes off as the tribute's limp body falls in front of my father and he's crowned the victor of the Hunger Games.

He was such a bloodthirsty tribute during the Games that you wouldn't believe he's actually humble and nice; an image he's kept since returning. People like him; not only because he's considerate and kind but because he was one of Five's most acclaimed victors in the Capitol for years. Through his win the Capitol began to cheer for the District Five tributes a little more each year. No way near on the same level as the Careers but more so than Ten, Eleven and Twelve.

Speaking of the Capitol and Districts, the quell is a perfect time for me to show what I already know - the fact that I can win the Games. It's in my blood, evidently. If my father can do it, I can do it. We're the same age - it's _basically_ destiny. Anyone who disagrees clearly doesn't know what the Fireband's are capable of. We're just as good as the Careers - if not better!

I'm going to volunteer this year because I want to show everyone that I can win the Games. I'll be like my Dad but better. Not a lot of people volunteer from Five so it'll be easy but I'll need to watch out; other children of victors _might_ have the same idea and I want to beat them if they even try to volunteer. My dad's one of the best victors District Five has ever had and I want to show them that and make sure that everybody knows it.

Speaking of my Dad, he calls me for breakfast and I pause the TV, right at the moment where he stands in victory, the glory of being announced the victor.

Our breakfast is simple but luxurious; the best bread available in District Five and the highest quality of jam. It's the simple, little things in life that gets you the most excited.

My father doesn't know my intentions of volunteering and he speaks to me as if he'll see me after the reaping at this table again.

"I think we should go out for a nice lunch," He suggests, "That sound good?"

Taking a bite out of my toast I nod, allowing him to believe I'll be coming back, "Sounds good to me."

He nods contently and digs back in to his breakfast. If only he knew.

* * *

 _Emmet Truman, District Five Male, 15 years old_

I'd like to say that my father is drinking copious amounts of alcohol because of the nature of the Games this year. The quell has meant that not only can both of his children be reaped seeing as my younger brother, Walt, is twelve - but also the reaping pool is a lot slimmer so the chances of that happening are even greater. It's not a slim as some places like Ten or Twelve but it's not as broad as places like One or Two.

I wish I could say that, but I can't.

My father became an alcoholic seven years ago when I was eight. I guess it all got too much for him; his wife dying after Walt was born, winning the Games and mentoring kids and seeing them die year after year. I'd be more surprised if you managed to stay sane after all of that. Ever since he began to drink he became a distant figure, kind of like an extra in a book or something; you know they're there, but they don't have an impact.

He's still cared for Walt and myself but briefly. It'd be making us a sloppy sandwich or something before school and a drunken shout of 'bye' when he remembers we're going somewhere. He's a bit better on reaping days, mostly because it'll be the last time he sees us for a while. Most people remember him as the humorous third wheel in his Games who killed his best friend and that's an image he has had to keep up. So, on reaping days, he's a lot more jokey with Walt and myself.

While he's sober today he's rushing about everywhere, not only preparing himself for the reapings but myself and Walt. Before I could get away with not looking good; my name was in their less times than most others so, really, there was never a need to look good. But now, seeing as the reaping pool is slimmer, the appearance is everything. Whilst before there could be some two hundred or so boys in my section, we'd be lucky to get thirty now.

He thrusted some oversized clothes in Walt's direction and gave me some of his old stuff from when he was reaped. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if this was what he wore when he was reaped for his Games. His rushing around shows us that he still cares, I think, and when he orders us to eat our breakfast up quickly I can't help but sigh and shake my head a little.

Walt looks a little scared and he looks over at me, "Do you think I'll get reaped?"

I shake my head, "Probably not. Statistically it'll be impossible. You'll be able to enjoy your first reaping comfortably."

He lets the answer sink in and nods, eating some more of his cereal.

I hope me pulling out the word statistically reassures him - everyone knows it's not unusual for twelve year olds to get reaped and he has a higher chance than ever. We'll just have to wait and see what happens.

* * *

 _Abadoria Isla, District Five Escort_

I'm thankful District Five isn't the most dull district out there. It's among the richer ones after the Careers so there's that. And they produce strong contenders _and_ in recent years their tributes have a better chance of being accepted into the Career alliance. Overall? I'm happy escorting for District Five.

I'm happy to see that the pool of reapees isn't as small as some people in the Capitol had teased me about. I did my basic research and, like I saw, there's a decent pick to choose from. I look and we've still got the same old same old; feeble looking twelve year olds and some promising eighteen year olds. Everyone in between falls into either category but as District Five tributes have proven, you should never count them out.

The crowd isn't as enthusiastic as I'm sure other districts are about the quell but what can you do? You can only excite an audience so much before even you think to yourself 'what's the point in trying?'

When I walk to the female's bowl I see it's just a bit fuller than the male bowl of names, judging from my quick glance over when I came onto the stage. Maybe District Five just has a specialism of producing more female tributes? Who knows. As much as I'd like to stand wondering why the female bowl of District Five is always more full than the male bowl, I pick a name at random and return to my spot in the middle of the stage.

I'm quite an expert at opening the names now, unlike some escorts. Within less than a second I'm reading out the name. I don't expect a volunteer but you always speak slowly just in case.

"Daughter o-"

"I volunteer!" A shout screams and I can't help but stand correct. I bet my face shows shock but, like most, I am.

The first thing I notice about the volunteer is how striking her red hair is. She doesn't waste anytime in walking up to the stage, in fact she takes it in her stride. She exudes confidence even though she walked from the fifteen year old's section.

"What's your name dear?" I ask her as she takes her place on my left, beaming at the district.

"Daughter of Eddy Fireband, Victor of the 76th Hunger Games - Henriella Fireband!"

The crowd does generate a cheer, mostly because Eddy was a popular victor. I look behind him and he walks forward slowly, smiling slightly and giving a wave at the crowd. It's clear he's in shock about his daughter volunteering and places both of his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them a little.

" _Lovely_!" I say before nodding and walking over to the male's bowl.

Part of me is excited for another volunteer so I pick the name rather quickly, returning to my spot and opening to read the name all within a few seconds rather than dragging out like I usually would.

"Son of Evan Truman, Victor of the 73rd Hunger Games - Walt Truman!"

A meek looking boy from the twelve year old section walks forward before, like I had hoped, another declaration of volunteering is heard.

The male doesn't walk up to the stage with as much enthusiasm as Henriella did and fear is evident on his face. He gives the younger boy a tight hug and I can only assume that they're siblings. When he's on the stage beside me I ask the same question.

"Son of Evan Truman, Victor of the 73rd Hunger Games - Emmet Truman."

The crowd again generates a cheer, mostly because Evan was again a popular tribute but there's whispers of shock. Clearly Emmet has some influence on the citizens.

"Well here are our tributes for the Fourth Quarter Quell!" I announce, presenting my tributes to the world, "Now you may both shake hands."

They shake hands and with a clap from myself they're escorted inside the Justice Building.

Maybe, like always, we have a chance.

* * *

 **District Five down! Nearly halfway!**

 **Because my exams are finished I should be able to update more regularly! I think my update schedule will go 70th HG/ 100th HG / 55th HG until the former is finished!**

 **Thank you to District 9 Tribute and gameshungerplayer for submitting Henriella and Emmet respectively!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy~!**

 **-Oli**


	7. District Six Reaping

_Matilde Marvee, District Six Female, 16 years old_

Everything in life has a purpose and that, wholly, is to create beauty. Some say the Games should be abolished but without them how would we come up with the charmingly beautiful poems and pieces of art? How would we inspire generations of people to fight for what they believe in? Really, the Games are the ultimate symbol of beauty and without it Panem would be a bleak place.

Some label me as a Capitol loyalist but I don't see it that way. No, I see it as wanting to preserve and celebrate the beauty they bring. I like to think I have a special relationship with the Games too; my mother, Irene, is a victor herself and that's meant I'm able to see the beauty first hand. She won the 71st Hunger Games and whenever I watch it back I can see how it all unfolded. She was part of a big alliance that, when they all got into a fight, she killed two people - a thirteen year old and her best friend. The look on her face is so haunting and remorseful and that's what makes it full of beauty. She without any more kills because the final three fought it out between them. There was an unwillingness to kill, one that I won't have if I'm ever reaped. Unlike most people who can't truly grasp the concept of the beauty the Games produce, I do and I'm willing to do whatever it takes ti ensure that the beauty is made to it's fullest potential.

Since my father died my mother's been extremely unstable mentally and consequently myself and my younger sister, Eadlyn, have been adopted by my aunt, Kappa. Kappa doesn't share the same philosophy as me; she's a pacifist and quite naturally hates the Hunger Games. She says they're barbaric and took away the sister she knew. Eadlyn's only ten so she can't understand the concept of the Games' beauty fully but I hope she'll come around. I'd teach her but Kappa discourages her spending time with me and that's a shame; I'd love to expose my sister to the true beauty of the world.

To be alive during a Quell is surely something magnificent and I'm glad I can see this one. It's a more exciting quell - victors children are to be the reapees and that makes me happy for two reasons. One, the pieces of art that can come from this are going to be nothing less than incredible. I can see the paintings of victors from Districts Ten, Eleven and Twelve clutching their children and doing their best to educate them in fighting whilst those from One, Two and Four are nothing short of proud and expectant. The second reason is that finally, finally I can be a part of this beauty. I never intended to volunteer, no, but now's my chance to be amongst the beauty. There's not that many victors in District Six - let alone children of them - and that means my chances will be the best they've ever been.

I eat my breakfast with anticipation of the day ahead and my aunt can only stare at me from across the table. Eadlyn's off playing elsewhere in the house.

"Good luck...for today," My aunt says in between mouthfuls and I smile at her.

"Thank-you. I hope whatever the outcome is, that it's beautiful."

I don't need to look at her to see her reaction but I shrug it off mentally. She wouldn't understand the beauty anyway.

* * *

 _Caspian Lochgear, District Six Male, 17 years old_

My mother hasn't stopped crying since the quell was announced and I don't blame her. She won the 85th Hunger Games and was so happy and grateful for her life that she had kids at the earliest possible chance she had. She said she always wanted to be a mother and she wanted to have as many kids as she could because time in the arena made her realise how short life actually is. She and my father never married but he stayed with her, fathered all of her children and support us until he died in an accident whilst constructing new trains for the Capitol. We later found amongst his possessions an engagement ring and that he wanted to propose to her soon. That was a tough blow.

There's nine of us kids altogether and seven of us who can be reaped. My older sisters Arabella and Andromeda are part of the small group of District Six natives who grew up to be influential people in the Capitol; they won scholarships to study medicine there and now they're among the leading people in medicinal studies. I'm the oldest of the ones who can be reaped and then there's a descending order of us on who can be reaped, right up until the twelve-year-old twins, Aeron and Montgomery.

Naturally, we all sit in silence as we eat our breakfast. There's not a lot we can talk about and any words would be pointless, useless. To make things worse, Arabella and Andromeda aren't allowed to come down to visit us from the Capitol like they had in previous years so the atmosphere's even colder without them. My mother constantly ushers out food for us to eat, saying that if one of us _is_ reaped that at least we'll be leaving on a full stomach and not be tempted by all the food the Capitol has to offer. The only saving grace is that, if one of us does go, our mother will accompany us and I think that is what takes the edge off, just a little bit - at least if her child does die she can be there until the very last possible moment.

After breakfast myself and Antoinette, my seventeen-year-old sister, help get Aeron and Montgomery dressed. They're very capable of doing it themselves, as they like to remind us every other day, but today they don't protest and ask us for help. I don't blame them - your first reaping is hard enough and their's is even harder since there's more of a likelihood that they'll be reaped. It's bittersweet seeing them all fancied up and looking extremely presentable; not because I never thought they could achieve that, no, but because I know there's a chance that this could be the first and last time I see them like this for one way or another, whether than be because one of them is reaped or I'm reaped.

The seven of us and our mother walk down to the square together, looking like a mother duck and her ducklings. We're a close family and with District Six not having the largest pool of victors to choose from - even less of those who have eligible kids - we're constantly reminded of the unlikely odds against us.

The last thing we do after getting signed in is hug one another, tightly. Words of comfort are exchanged and then, by force of the Peacekeeepers, we take our places in our respective age categories.

* * *

 _Lorcan Seedlegem, District Six Escort_

District Six is definitely the most boring and depressing district to escort for; I'd say even District Twelve is more interesting. Traditionally, the latter was where any new escorts are placed but, as time has progressed and more promising tributes have emerged from the coal district, District Six has taken over that role. And the reason? Well, it's right in front of me.

In front of me is the whole district gathered around the small square that holds no more than ten children; seven of them belonging to one of the four victors behind me. I keep a smile plastered on my face though; I'm not going to get promoted to another district if I look as depressing as the tributes I escort to and from the Capitol. Maybe there's some saltiness in my smile - I have been the escort for District Six for the past five years and, although I'm an _exceptional_ escort, I haven't been promoted to a better district. Oh well, my time will come.

I whizz through all of the introductory aspects of the reapings as District Six isn't usually responsive to this sort of thing and today, despite it being a _Quarter Quell_ , they are no different.

"As always, ladies first," I say as I strut to the bowl containing less than five female names. I pick the one on the very top and part of me wonders if fate wants me to pick this girl. Maybe I'll have a true fighter this year - children of victors _should_ be vicious and killing machines, right?"

I return to the centre of the stage and unfold the piece of paper, revealing the name in perfectly typed fashion.

"Daughter of Irene Dominicus, Victor of the 71st Annual Hunger Games - Matilde Marvee!"

A pale girl steps forward, her short brown curly hair bouncing on her shoulders as she makes her way to the stage. She has a grin on her face, one that has a slightly sinister air about it. From behind her mother, Irene, steps forwards and stands behind her. Everyone knows that Irene had become unstable a long time ago and even I feel uncomfortable with the mother-daughter duo standing beside me.

Straightening out my suit, I cough. "And now the boys!"

There's more boy names in the bowl compared to the females and subsequently I just pick one a random with no rhyme nor reason. I make sure to avoid the gaze of Irene and Matilde as I return to the centre of the stage and unfold the piece of paper.

"Son of Harmona Lochgear, Victor of the 85th Hunger Games - Caspian Lochgear!"

Everybody knows about the Lochgear's and that's why it's no surprise that there's gasps of shock. Harmona won the Games in a cunning fashion; deceiving the Careers to attack one another and taking out the final three tributes. She's become more emotional out of the arena but nobody really blames her. Her two eldest daughters are among Six's pride and joy, being medicine students in the Capitol.

As he makes his way up to the stage Caspian is no short of looking like a victor; he has a broad frame, defined biceps that the _slightly_ too tight shirt helps emphasise, he has an chiselled face and he'll be a fan favourite in the Capitol for looks alone. His mother was the same - she was deemed among the most beautiful tributes the Games had seen in years and it's nice to see that Caspian lives up to it.

He stands beside me and his mother, sniffling under her breath, steps behind him and places both of her hands on his shoulders, squeezing them in what I assume is reassurance.

I tell the tributes to shake hands and they do - Matilde still haven't the sinisterness about her that clearly makes Caspian uncomfortable.

"Happy Hunger Games! And! May the odds be _ever_ in _your_ favour!"

* * *

 **Confession: I had half of this done for about a solid month but had no drive to work on it. That reason being that Caspian is _my_ tribute that _will_ die in the Bloodbath. I got impatient and wanted to get the story going, okay!**

 **Nah, I spent a lot of time trying not to go so much into detail with his life but I think I did that anyway - my fault for submitting a barely fleshed out char of my own lmao**

 **He won't get much screentime, I don't think, unless you all want him to!**

 **Another reason as to why I haven't posted is that I got a job, got into my first choice university _and_ recently I've had summer flu (which I still do but I'm pushing through!)**

 **Thank you to SparkHat for submitting Matilde! I hope I did her justice!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~Oli**


	8. District Seven Reaping

_Ashley Greene, District Seven Female, 17 years old_

Getting a letter from the Capitol to remind me to attend the Quell reaping that's on today was the first abnormality. Only children of Victors were reaped and, as far as I had known, I wasn't one of them. My uncle, who I lived with for a majority of my life, never told me about a victor in the family and, even if he did know, he didn't seem to get any of the rewards from it because we lived in poverty. First I wondered if it was my mother - my uncle always talked of his sister highly and I have some very distant, fond memories of her. I was convinced that she was the victor and, when I told my best friend Aspen, he agreed. Neither of us predicted it would be my father.

I have no real memories of my father, just distant ones of him screaming and repeating stuff to himself again and again. I know he killed my mother and, upon learning he was a victor, that was probably why he lost his place in the Victor's Village. As soon as I got the letter yesterday myself and Aspen went to the Justice Building to see archives of his Games. What happened changed me a little; I suddenly felt a tinge of guilt and sympathy for the man I held only empathetic feelings towards my entire life. He was reaped with his twin sister in what would be an incredibly slow moving Games. The Gamemakers, faced with five tributes who wouldn't seem to come into contact with each other, flooded the arena with acid. My father and his sister were the only two who survived because they climbed trees quicker than the acid could catch them and, after it, he killed her after she _begged_ him to. The most haunting thing about his Games, however, is that his sister looks near identical to me and even Aspen wondered if that's why all memories I had of him were negative - I took him back to the arena mentally.

Aspen makes breakfast for me today, calling it his special treat and how the day would have one luxury after another. I've lived with Aspen for a few years now; when my uncle was killed for resisting me being taken to the orphanage I had become a lone wolf. Aspen had escaped the orphanage and, for a while, we lived as and where we saw fit before we managed to save enough money by being lumberjacks to buy a house. It's small, uncomfortably so at times, but it gets the job done and it's _ours_.

I'm quiet as I eat the toast Aspen made me. Usually I'd crack or joke or two but today I can't bring myself to do it. The man I've got no real memory of has caused my life to be endangered. The crazed victor we see year after year is my father. My uncle had just said our last names being the same were a coincidence and I believed him, but now it made a bit more sense.

Aspen doesn't say much either, instead he just comes over and hugs me tightly.

"Cheer up," He says after he pulls away, moving some stray hair out of my face, "We've got a lot of victors and they have a lot of kids - the chances of you being reaped are little to none."

I let his words sink in before nodding, attempting to flash a smile at him, "I guess you're right. We'll just have to see."

In the distance a whistle blows, signalling that the district should be getting ready for the reaping.

* * *

 _Hunter Moonseed, District Seven Male, 17 years old_

Eating breakfast before the reaping with my family is a little surreal. I'm used to being the only one eligible for reaping; my older sister Iris passed the 18 year mark a few years back, but this year there's a lot more tension in the air. We're all uneasy, mostly because the reaping pool's a lot tighter this year. We hadn't been worried about the quell when it was first announced; there's a lot of sons of victors but when we eliminated who couldn't be reaped, it left a reaping pool of about twenty-five. It doesn't sound ominous, but it is.

We would've been out helping the less fortunate like we usually do on reaping days, but today's different. My mother wanted us all close. Maybe she doesn't want to consider the possibility of losing another family member. Seven years ago my father died in a house fire that left no survivors; it's why we go out and help the less fortunate. I don't like to think about it much - it just reminds me how I wasn't as close to my father as Iris was and that pains me.

We eat in silence, mostly. It's a nice and filling, the food that is. We don't like to flaunt our wealth but, in my mother's words, "it's a different occasion and because of that we're allowed to have a change in pace." I guess we don't need to talk too much in order to get our feelings across, besides, our facial expressions give it away. My mother wears one of sadness, apprehension almost. Iris' is near identical but you can tell the pain of losing me wouldn't have as much of an impact on her as it would on my mother. My facial expression is unreadable, I think. That's what I hope it is anyway. Usually I'm goofy, witty and can brighten a room apparently, but I don't feel like it today. I don't want to show any weaknesses either, any fear, so being unreadable is the best way to be.

The whistle across the district blows and I can see my mother's head snapping up quicker than I've ever seen it happen before. She looks at nothing in the air before her eyes fall on me. She flashes me a smile, a sad smile, as she pushes her plate away from her, "Well then, I guess that's our cue."

I nod and I can see Iris shuffle uncomfortably.

We stay in silence for a few more seconds before my mother exhales. "Should we go?"

There's a mutual decision, albeit no words spoken, and we all take our plates to the kitchen, putting them in the sink and making the last minute checks to our appearances before leaving our house, hoping we'll come home as three and not Iris on her own as my mother becomes my mentor.

* * *

 _Thellasy Levanium_

There is something fun and exciting about being District Seven's mentor; you _never_ know what tributes you're going to get! Some years they're strong, tough, and rival the Careers but other years we have soft-spoken tributes, ones who haven't quite followed in the same path as their powerful counterparts. Some escorts might scoff at the latter but I embrace them all the same - it's what makes the Games _that_ much more exciting!

I'm glad to see there's a nice amount of reapees in front of me, more girls than boys but it doesn't matter. I can see that, for the most part, most of them have used their parent's status as victor to train, strengthen up. The men look powerful and the women, mostly, look cunning.

I don't need to skip the quell details like _some_ districts have to; District Seven knows it's among the most powerful non-Career districts and the image of being tough is important, so they listen intently. That's fine, I love hyping up the Games as much as possible!

Choosing the tributes is my favourite part - I haven't been voted by Capitol Weekly as the most exciting escort to watch three years running for nothing!

I strut to the female's bowl and give it a look. A good look. A good, long look. An analytical look. There. One paper speaks out to me and I reach in, grabbing it. I present it to the audience like a magician would as he makes something under a cup disappear. I return to the centre of the stage promptly and, with my voice clear and full of clarity, I announce the lucky girl.

"Daughter of Earle Green, Victor of the 67th Hunger Games - Ashley Greene!"

A tall girl with brown hair pulled neatly into a bun makes her way down to the stage. She looks intimidating; not only by her height but also by her green eyes. They seem to glare at everything and everyone, constantly analysing. Just looking at them myself gives me the creeps!

She takes her place on my left and, from behind, one of the victors steps forward. He's accompanied by two Peacekeepers - we never let Mr. Greene go unattended, especially since Ashley looks like his sister Briar, and we can only guess what kind of emotions that evokes.

They don't look at each other and, after a moment of silence (Dramatic! Of course.), I make my way over to the bowl of male names.

I repeat my choosing tactic, but this time I pick one closer to the bottom of the pile rather than the top. I look at it thoroughly before nodding and making my way back to the stage.

Unwrapping it, I smile.

"Son of Iris Moonseed, Victor of the 78th Hunger Games - Hunter Moonseed!"

A fairly built and averaged sized boy comes up. His blonde hair is in a side swept fringe and I know there won't be any difficulty trying to get sponsors for him; he's got the surfer from Four look.

He takes his place on my right and his mother steps forward, silently weeping as she places a hand on his shoulder, visibly squeezing it. I give a look to Hunter, then one to Ashley before facing the crowd once more.

"District Seven! _These_ are your tributes for the 100th Hunger Games!"

I instruct them to shake hands, which they do, and I present them once more to Panem.

I can sense that I'll be Escort of the Year four years running!

* * *

 **FIRST OF ALL OMG! Sorry for not updating! University's hit me hard and I'm struggling to find the time to update!**

 **I'll try my best though, and that goes along with my other SYOT's. It does mean, however, there won't be a new one from me for a while!**

 **Thank you so much to MarinaSkies and District5Chemist for these two! I hope I did them justice.**

 **As always, reviews make me happy~!**

 **\- Oli**


	9. District Eight Reaping

**LMAO JK KIMORA I FOUND THE DOCUMENT SO THE 100TH HG IS BACK ON B)**

* * *

 _Muffy 'Muffin' Windhart, District Eight Female, 12 years old_

My mother, Serenity, won the 86th Hunger Games and my brother, Luster, won the 96th Hunger Games. Both were eighteen and it seemed to be a streak; my family always speaks of me volunteering during the 106th Hunger Games when I'm eighteen to carry on the legacy. That is, before the quell was announced.

 _"How exciting!"_ My mother had exclaimed as we watched the quell over the TV, _"Just think, Muffy Windhart of the Windhart victor legacy, Victor of the Fourth Quarter Quell! Oh it's just magical!"_

Of course my father and brother agreed, how could they not? They're all Hunger Games fanatics - I doubt you'd find bigger fans of the Games than them, _even_ in the Capitol. It's obvious to everyone I'm the polar opposite from them. Whilst they're loud, obnoxious and the aforementioned biggest fans of the Hunger Games ever, I'm a lot more introverted. People at school bully me despite the fame my family has given me and I always accept it. Besides, there has to be a reason, right? Both my mother and brother were vicious killers in their Games, if there wasn't a reason for me being so bully worthy, they wouldn't do it.

That gets me down a lot, if I'm honest. There's been a lot of times where I've cried alone because I'm so hurt by what's said to me. My best friend Helena usually sticks up for me, though, which is nice. I know I have her in the midst of crazy that's my life.

As expected, the breakfast of reaping day is one that has joy in the air. Unplaced joy, but joy all the same. We have enough money to have extravagant breakfasts daily but today the extravagance beats that of our usual breakfasts, making it more akin to a lunch meal. Anyone walking by would think we're having a party and that's not unlike my parents either; they're known for throwing parties for the few Hunger Games enthusiasts in the district. Perhaps it's no wonder I get bullied; for however proud of my mother and brother District Eight is, celebrating the Games isn't received well. But I don't think about stuff like that for too long; my pessimism gets the better of me.

"Do you think she should volunteer?" My father asks to the table, not directly talking to me and, quite frankly, acting as if I wasn't there. My chances of being reaped are high; not only are there about six female reapees this year but it's me - my luck'll probably mean I get reaped.

"There's no point," Luster chimes in before my mother can give her opinion, "There's five other girls besides Muffy, she'll probably get reaped."

If my mood wasn't spoiled before, it is now. I excuse myself on the account of wanting to get ready so I can go to my room to let out a few tears. They don't usually get to me like this but on my _first_ reaping, they talk excitedly about how I'm going to _probably_ be reaped and celebrate it. They have it in their heads that somehow I'll trump all odds and make it through but you don't need to be old to know that twelve-year-old's rarely make it far and if they do it's because they offer something for someone else, only to get killed when whatever it is has been depleted. I sigh as I brush some of my red hair out of my face, deciding now that perhaps a ponytail'll be better; I don't want my hair sticking to my face by my tears.

I must be upstairs in my room longer than I thought because soon enough the whistle blows throughout the district to signal the requirement of the citizens outside the Justice Building and, with it, comes my family's excited shrieks for me to come downstairs and go to the reaping.

I can only hope I get through this.

* * *

 _Ellison Roderick, District Eight Male, 13 years old_

I had to grow up fast. I always say I'm like an eighteen-year-old trapped inside a thirteen-year-old's body. I didn't want to grow up quickly, no, but watching my mother die before me when I was only nine made me grow up too fast and develop isolationist tendencies. Living here in the Victor's Village without her isn't the same and my father can attest to that. Despite being the Victor of the 63rd Hunger Games he always said my mother was happier to live here. Apparently he had a better life than her before winning his Games and she, coming from one of the poorest of the poor, marvelled at the new lifestyle she was able to lead. She got a lot by marrying the man she fell in love with when they were both sixteen; he was a Capitol favourite and subsequently she was able to make a name for herself as a decent costume designer. Father says had she lived for a few more years we'd be Capitolites and she'd be the stylist for a Career district.

She died peacefully, which was nice. She succumbed to a type of poisoning that meant that her death was prolonged, the only solace being that the final few days were short and painless. My father caused about five deaths in his Games (six if you count pushing a girl into a ditch that would then be flooded by the Gamemakers before she could come out) but he always retains that my mother's death was the hardest. She's not buried in the cemetery for District Eight, no, she's buried outside in the garden as per father's request.

Reaping days - especially this one of the Fourth Quarter Quell - are solemn, mostly because my mother was able to brighten the mood in ways my father can't. He always tells me that being reaped made the day even more dreaded because it forces him to relive his nine days in the arena. I don't blame him; his arena was based upon drug trips and many tributes killed themselves. It's not uncommon for me to wake-up because of his screaming. He tried to explain to me once the stuff he saw and I had nightmares for weeks and even then I don't think I got the _full_ effect of them.

Today's reaping, as I said, is solemn. We have a hearty breakfast as usual, the one tradition my mother put in place that's stayed, but we eat in silence. I can tell it pains my father to not be able to be more joyous for him but, as I said, I grew up too fast so I don't blame him. If I'm optimistic about the situation (the situation being that I am among four males that could be reaped) before me, maybe one day I can put new traditions into place in my own house in the Victor's Village. Breakfast never lasts long on reaping days and today is no exception. We finish our meals in silence, he flashes me a sad smile before slinking off to his study where he looks at all the memories our mother left us. That's typically my cue to go and get changed into my reaping clothes so I take it, wanting to look good for him.

It takes me a while to choose an outfit, mostly because it's my second reaping and I still have no idea fully on what one would wear. I can dress myself as an eighteen-year-old because I've already planned my reaping outfit for when I reach that age but for now? I have no clue. Part of me wants to wear some bright colours in an attempt to brighten his mood but, no, muted colours would be better; I don't want him to think I'm celebrating the Games in any shape or form. I settle on a pale blue dress shirt with black slacks and boots that elevate my height by a couple of inches.

I give myself a once over in the mirror before I leave. No matter how much I hate it, I look younger for my age with a baby face and freckles dusted across my nose and cheeks to match.I quiff my hair a little, just to allude to the fact that I _am_ older than seven-years-old, before the whistle blows. I hear the door of my father's study close shut and I leave my room after looking at it once more, _just in case_.

* * *

 _Flavium Wenzenraus_

Being the escort for District Eight has it's perks, I guess. Any reaping is an opportunity to wear an even more outrageous outfit than my escort peers because District Eight is where the fabric comes from - I have to pay them homage and show them that the Capitol appreciates it's work. Though, if I'm honest, I don't think they see the kindness in my gestures...

For a square that's usually packed with kids, today stands before me six females and four males. The eldest girl is sixteen and the oldest boy is fourteen. The reaping is scary enough and even my desensitised, Game anticipating Capitol heart feels for the kids in front of me; for some of them it's their first time in the reaping and their chances of being reaped are through the roof compared to what it usually would be. It must suck for them but hey! It makes for great entertainment.

In District Eight, I can always count on the small group of Games enthusiasts to make the viewing of the mandatory film better; they mouth along to the words and animate their expressions as if they're _truly_ feeling the pain being conveyed. It's an amusing sight and, even in such circumstances, the rest of District Eight finds time to either scowl at them or laugh in disbelief. In fact, they're among the only ones who clap when the video is over. Everybody else remains quiet and silent, mostly in shock that people would celebrate the Games so much in a district like their's.

I nod after the mayor's speech, not really paying attention to what he has to say. Something about honouring the past victors? I don't know, something along those lines. To be honest I only get brought back to the world when I'm nodded at which prompts me to smile brightly at the crowd.

"As always, we'll start with the ladies!"

Other escorts like to prance to the bowl to make a show of it back in the Capitol but I'm more subtle; I walk to the bowl with importance, a clear purpose in each of my steps. There's only six names so I pick the one at the very bottom, might as well since it'd be far too boring to pick the first name. With the same walk of importance, I return to the centre of the stage and unwrap the name, my bright smile unmoving.

"Daughter of Serenity Windhart, Victor of the 86th Hunger Games - Muffy Windhart!"

There's a loud gasp from the only girl in the twelve-year-old's section before she passes out, being caught at the last second by a nearby Peacekeeper. Her mother, Serenity, steps beside me in her place and flashes me a knowing smile, mouthing the words 'Oh she'll be fine!'

The district watches as Muffy is taken into the Justice Building ahead of time, seeing no point in lumping her body there for the rest of the festivities and it seems as if her mother has taken it upon herself to complete the shaking of the hands on behalf of her daughter. The Windharts, whilst infamous for their wins, are also known for their loyalty to the Hunger Games and that'll only work against Muffy, I believe.

Slightly shaken up by the ordeal, it's never happened since I became escort five years back, I nod and go to the boy's bowl. With four males, I look away and grab the first piece of paper my hand lands on. I return to the centre stage and smile at the crowd, trying to regain whatever little composure I lost.

"Son of Thread Roderick, Victor of the 64th Hunger Games - Ellison Roderick!"

A boy tall for his age emerges from the thirteen-year-old's section, his dirty blonde hair quiffed almost in a style like myself. He looks younger than thirteen but with his height you can attest to him being older. I vaguely remember his father's Games as the man steps beside me, he too had a baby face at fifteen and managed to become a vicious killer. As Ellison stands before him, his father places both hands on his shoulders and squeezes them reassuringly. I look both to my left and right before smiling back out at the crowd.

"May the tribute and the, er, tribute's mother shake hands!"

I don't blame Ellison for having reservations about shaking Serenity hand; she's perceived as _slightly_ manic if I do recall, but he does so anyway before being ushered into the arena.

It seems as if District Eight and I are out of luck this year; younger tributes never make victors.

* * *

 **OK SO IM RLLY HAPPY I FOUND THIS!**

 **I was scared that I had lost it but I was able to find this reaping. The others are still gone but I hadn't made much progress on them so I can redo them again. Sorry if this chapter seems short and/or rushed, I distinctly remember righting it when I really should've been revising but I'm happy with the content! If I had known what my plans were, I would've gone back and added some stuff on but I don't want to mess up what I do have.**

 **Like District Six, Ellison is my own filler tribute! He was needed so I just made a tribute. Likewise, if anyone has a District 9 female they can offer up, please pm me them! It doesn't matter if you have tributes in the Games since she's the last one (plus we need some Bloodbath tributes wink wink)**

 **But thank you to hollowman96 for Muffy! I hope I did her justice! :)**

 **Onto District 9! As I said, if anyone can send in a D9 female soon, I can do it in order then (I know I don't need to but! sh)**

 **We'll be in the Capitol in no time!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**


	10. District Nine Reaping

_Peyton Francisco, District Nine Female, 14 years old_

I bet when my father had a daughter neither he, nor my mother, nor the Capitol for that matter, would expect her to be as punk as I am. It's said he was the most popular tribute of his Games, his looks being largely attributed to that (though his skills with a scythe aren't anything to discredit). 'The Adonis from Nine,' I think was his nickname. I think most thought I'd be preppy or a mini Career in the making.

I don't disobey the rules for any bigger reason like I think something is institutionalised or I'm inherently against something, no, I break rules because I _can_ and it gets my father's attention. Growing up he never paid any attention to me, or at least that's what it always felt like, and was always going up to the Capitol. I always remember it being me and my mother and, for her, I'm a little _less_ punkish but still enough to warrant her telling my father about my behaviour.

I always knew my father was a victor; we live in the Victor's Village and are able to have a good life in comparison to some of my school friends but it never warranted an explanation as to why he always left. My mother, when I was younger, told me it was due to him having to escort the tributes but I soon learnt the difference between the Hunger Games period and all the other times he went up to the Capitol. I always knew my mother knew more and that she was keeping it from me and, until a few years ago, I never understood why. Finding out about the Victor Prostitution Ring was the first big shock, the second being that my father was still part of it despite being among the older victors still in it. I guess being the 'Adonis' had it's downfalls. As I'm older I understand why he doesn't pay as much attention to me or why he goes to the Capitol but I still act out to get his attention - old habits die hard.

Some districts get to have their victor parents with them during this quell but not District Nine; we, or at least _my_ family, have to eat just me and my mother because my father was called to the Justice Building early, probably to learn the protocol if I'm reaped. Usually we might have a bigger breakfast formally at the table but today we sit with plates on our laps as we watch the rerun of my father's Games; as suggested by my mother.

It's only the highlights but it's enough for me to understand him better. I've watched his Games before but this time it feels different, it feels more real as I'm even more closer to being reaped. We watch as he allies with the Careers, how the District One and Two males are killed in the Bloodbath by some of the older outer tributes. We watch how, on the third night, my father kills the rest of the Careers on his own and then allies with his District partner until she dies because of an earthquake. The final three is the most jarring image, the biggest contrast to then and now. The final three is him, the girl from Ten and the boy from Five. It's as if something snaps within my father because he turns into a ruthless killing machine; cutting the girl from Ten's arm off and leaving her to bleed to death and slitting the neck of Five. Never would I have imagined that my father was like that.

"I'm not hungry anymore," I say as I put my plate onto the table in front of me, suddenly I'm not in the mood for the extravagant breakfast.

"You should try and eat some more Peyton," My mother says, looking over at me with a small smile. I know she means well but that's not going to stop me from acting up.

" _No_ , I said I'm not hungry," I huff before going upstairs to get ready for the reaping.

* * *

 _Cleave McLonrot-Roneban, District Nine Male, 15 years old_

I don't know _who_ my victor parent is; none of my family do. I share the same last name with the victor of the 66th Hunger Games, Barley McLonrot, but my family's told me it's just a coincidence. Besides, the resemblance is little. I've never seen the rest of his family but from judging his looks to my own reflection, I doubt we're related. We have the same caramel tone to our skin but that's where the similarities end. His caramel isn't disturbed, mine is. My brothers used to joke with me that I was one of those caramel puddings we'd try and steal from the dessert cafes in the main square; mostly caramel with spots of white peeking through. My mother told me the condition I have but I can't remember the name. vitiligo? Something along those lines. All I know is it makes me different and it makes it easy to hold grudges against people because, quite simply, they're assholes.

I remember when I got the letter I asked my mother if she ever was involved with Barley McLonrot, wondering how I got the name.

"Me? With _that_ McLonrot? I've never seen a victor so hated in my life," She had said, disgust contorting onto her face, "He'd probably spit on me if he ever saw me."

I'd heard things about Barley, how he was popular until he came home and exposed his true colours. Apparently he exposed himself by openly hating poorer tributes - a problem, seeing as Nine is one of the poorest Districts. Subsequently my mother's comments were right; I'd hate to imagine what'd happen to her if he ever stumbled across her... across us. Seeing Barley at the reapings is always intimidating; it's as if he can tell who the poorest are and he scowls at them. It might be my mind playing tricks on me but I always feel as if he stares at me in particular.

As I said, we're poor. Like, living in the alleyway poor. There's four of us and I'm the youngest; my older brothers Philip and Reed take care of me and teach me how to steal the good food without getting caught. I used to be bad at it but now I'm one of the best - kids from other alleyways come to me for advice. It's because of my skills that we're able to have a decent meal. It's not fancy by any standards - some soft bread, some goat's cheese we pawned from another family and a few of those caramel puddings I get compared to - but it's definitely better than we're used to. Mother won't let us take tesserae; it'll expose that we're homeless and we'll be put into the orphanage and I don't know what'd happen to her.

We eat mostly in silence, the odd joke being cracked here and there. My family seems restless, as if they know something and I don't.

"What's up?" I ask as I take a bite out of a piece of bread, watching them all intently. If they know something that I don't... well, understandable I'd want to know.

"No-" Philip begins with the tone he sometimes uses when he tries to overpower me. It's not rare that we fight but we're siblings; fighting is an integral part of that.

" _What's_ up?" I cut him off, my stubbornness coming through. I want to know whatever he knows.

My mother looks flustered for a few seconds before she smiles at me warmly, "We love you very much Cleave, you know that, right?"

My eyes shift from Philip to her and I nod slowly, "Of course... why?"

Her smile turns sadder, albeit slightly, "We want you to know that, like, _really_ know that."

I eat another piece of bread as I look at them all suspiciously. Guess I won't be finding out anytime soon.

* * *

 _Genevieva Goldengem_

I've been escorting District Nine since the 50th Hunger Games and I was eighteen. In my sixties, I'm the oldest escort and I haven't been given a promotion! It's terribly insulting, mostly because the tributes (and victors, when you consider Barley) are so intolerable. Julian Farncisco was nice, it made a change. Most see me as boring but when your feet hurt after years of wearing heels, it's comfort over fashion! Besides, I don't know how anyone can call my extravagant dresses boring - I'm insulted at the mere thought.

When you get to my age and have escorted for as long as I have, you get _bored_ with the film. I'm as loyal to the Capitol, my home, as the next Capitolite but fifty years of watching the same film? The least they could've done is refilm it! There is some humour in it though; the youngsters from the twelve-year-old and thirteen-year-old section always look at it with bewildered eyes, as if they're taking it all for gospel. At least we can trust them not to try and rise up against us. You can't help but feel sorry for them, they always have the big doe eyes and it's always hard to see them killed without mercy. One does have to look away sometimes.

But this year's Games! Exciting! I skip the film just to talk about it! The quell is such a unique one, one that makes a statement. I remember thinking double the tributes was ingenious and then sending the victors in? Great! And now, now sending in the victors children? It truly does show how much the Districts owe to us. I can tell my speech is boring the citizens to pieces but it's my time! We only have about six in each reaping pool so I need to pass the time somehow. Besides, the mayor's speech is always only a few minutes long. All he ever does is ramble about how Nine is the grain in the golden bread... or something. Nobody ever listens - can we replace his allocated spot for more speaking time for me? No?

"As standard, ladies first!" I say as I walk to the bowl of female names. When you get to my age you forgo all the fancy, elaborate ways of picking a name. Just pick it! The tributes are going to die, let's not prolong their suffering now.

I choose the paper in the very centre and return to the centre of the stage, opening it up and beaming to the crowd.

"Daughter of Julian Francisco, Victor of the 88th Hunger Games - Peyton Francisco!"

Oh! Exciting! The Capitol loves Julian and no doubt his daughter will be received well! I expect to see someone was beautiful and preppy as him and I only get the first part. As beautiful as Miss Peyton is, her style and the incredibly _annoying_ piece of chain jewellery that makes a godawful noise as she walks are both unbearable. I can't help but turn up my nose as she walks with her fists balled.

If we take away her attitude (something I _will_ be making attempts to do!) she could be quite marketable to the sponsors; she has a pixie face which makes her cute and I have no reservations that she'll be vicious, if her fashion is anything to go by. She's trying to look annoyed, bless her, but she only looks cuter. I smile at Julian as he steps forward and stands behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder which she tries to shake off, obviously still going for the annoyed charade.

"And now, the boys!"

Again, with no flamboyancy, I walk to the bowl full of male names and pick the paper that looks misplaced among the others.

"Son of Barley McLonrot, Victor of the 66th Hunger Games - Cleave McLonrot!"

I smile out to the six boys but none of them step forward. One... spotty one, looks confused and it isn't until someone rushes to tell me to add another name on the end that I perhaps see the reason why.

"My apologies!" I say, smiling, "Son of Barley McLonrot, Victor of the 66th Hunger Games - Cleave McLonrot-Roneban!"

The confused boy resembles Peyton now; he walks to the stage annoyed with his fists balled but, unlike her, there's an undeniable sense of shock. People look shocked as he walks up, presumably because the condition isn't as common here as it is in the Capitol? It's a growing trend and it's a shame the Districts don't share our fashion sense.

Instead of standing still at the stage, Cleave punches and shouts at Barley (something we'd _all_ like to do - it's nice to see Cleave taking one for the District Nine team), screaming about being abandoned before being pulled off the stage. Barley looks unfazed and nods at me expectantly to carry on.

Flustered, I smile at the crowd as I clap, "Your tributes! Please shake hands."

Peyton still looks annoyed as she shakes Barley's hands, glaring at it slightly before being led into the Justice Building.

Well, don't I have my work cut out for me?

* * *

 **DISTRICT NINEEEE!**

 **I like these tributes, two strong personalities. If it's not clear, the family Cleave talks about aren't his biological family - more'll be revealed soon!**

 **Thank you so much to District 9 Tribute and 66samvr for Peyton and Cleave respectively! I hope I did them justice :)**

 **We only have three more districts left! I can't wait to blast through the Goodbyes and Train Rides and arrive in the Capitol!**

 **Also, as a reminder, I have another SYOT open (125th Hunger Games) that still desperately needs submissions! I'll be posting a chapter later today hopefully from the perspective of that year's victor, as I always do, so do submit if you haven't!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**


	11. District Ten Reaping

_Tressa Farrbain, District Ten Female, 18 years old_

Once upon a time my family was a pretty big deal, the Farrbain name meaning a lot. My father, Ajax Farrbain, won the 78th Hunger Games. At least, we were when we lived in the Victor's Village. My father was one of the most renowned victors from Ten, being a Career in training and betraying them all. He became a model tribute for a while; tributes after him tried to replicate his strategy, so much so that the other Districts caught on and that's why they stopped, or so I'm told. Ever since he's passed away though, myself, my mother and my younger sister have lived in the two story cottage that he was raised on. We don't tend to the ranch beside it, our cousins do that.

Of course our name still does mean _something_ as he was a victor, but I concern myself with making sure it's remembered properly. Ever since the Career Academy the mayor attempted to implement in the district fell through, school offers some training to prepare us and my sister and I are proficient at it. I don't know about my sister's reasoning for getting a Career-esque training, but I do it so I can continue the Farrbain legacy that my father set up. One Farrbain victor can make up for the deceased one to ensure that our name is remembered.

My sister and I have watched his Games enough times where I can tell you what happens when, like how he manages to get onto the walls of the labyrinth arena he was in and then snipe from above, but watching it on the morning of the reaping as we eat our breakfast is somewhat different. I know I'm going to volunteer so I make sure to take every detail seriously - even more so than I have ever done in the past.

"Are either of you going to volunteer?" My mother asks as she eats some toast, looking at us expectantly. She might not be the biggest supporter of either of us entering the Games but she's supportive of _us_ and knows both of us want to try it.

"I am."

It's a simple statement but what complicates things is how myself _and_ my sister, Lilianna, say it in unison.

We both look at one another and I narrow my eyes.

" _I_ am," I say, the spoon I was using to eat my cereal being lowered into the bowl and left there, "I'm _older_ and it's my last chance."

Lilianna shakes her head, " _No_ I'm going to because you've got that bad leg, remember?"

I grit my teeth. Of _course_ I remember. When we were younger and the competitiveness of the training really got to us, Lilianna stomped on my leg hard enough to render me useless from training for a couple of months. It was torture, watching her as she got better and more than likely got the advice that she should volunteer when I'm in my final year so I can't. Whilst the wound itself might not be raw, it's implications are and everybody knows that it drove a rift between us.

"If you think a minor injury is going to stop me then you're going to be disappointed," I snap back, ignoring my mother's pleading looks for us to stop. I appreciate that, for her, having her two daughters fight on the day either of them could be reaped was the last thing she wanted but I'm _not_ having Lilianna volunteer when it's my turn. She can do it next year when I come home a victor.

"We'll see who's disappointed," was all she said in return, smiling sweetly at me.

In a huff, I excuse myself from the table to get ready for the reaping. I need to look good when _I_ volunteer.

* * *

 _Citron Saddleback, District Ten Male, 16 years old_

Usually I'd spend the reaping day with my friends Dale and Maroon but today I spend it with my mom, the victor of the 80th Hunger Games. The reaping is more tailored today to take away one of the only things she has, so the least I can do is stay with her and get through the morning together. We're a close knit family, mostly because I was the only son she ever had. That and it's us against the world; I don't know my father and my mother doesn't seem so hung up over it. I try to tell her to adopt someone, half because I'd love to have a sibling but also half because then, should anything happen to me, she always has someone else to project her love onto, but she's always sceptical. I don't blame her, though.

Today during the reaping we watch her Games as we eat our breakfast on the sofas. It's not something she particularly wants to watch again but, in her own words, "At least I can tell you what was going through my mind." That and it's the only thing on all the TV networks in Ten at the moment.

I sit and watch how the woman set next to me, the one who's loved me since I was born, fought for her life.

I'm quite lucky in some senses with my mother as a victor; she was a lone wolf during her Games and, with a mask she found in perhaps one of the luckiest backpacks ever gotten at the Cornucopia, she was able to hide in the highest mountains of the arena that year. We watch as countless tributes try to make it up to her but, because they don't have the same mask that can help one breath the thin air, they all perished.

Since it's the highlights, we watch as the other three tributes - the girls from One, Two and Four - mistakenly miscount my mother and believe themselves to be the final three. They fight out to the death, leaving the District One female all alone. She screams for her victory to be announced, believing herself to be the victor, and that's when my mother pounces. Showing no emotion, as was her trademark throughout the entirety of the pre-Game festivities, my mother ran up behind the girl and stabbed her in the back, being announced as the victor seconds later.

Just like her face during her time in the Capitol, my mother shows little emotion to her victory. I guess years of escorting kids to their deaths does something to you.

"Never show emotion if you can help it," She says to me with a small smile, "Emotion shows you're vulnerable. People find it much more unsettling when you're the mysterious type. I can remember during the time in the Training Centre, more people were scared of me because I did _nothing_ rather than the Careers who tried to emphasise their brutish natures."

I nod, "Show... nothing?"

She shakes her head after a few seconds of thought. "No, show some emotion - I don't think the quiet angle'll work like it used to. Do enough where you're more mysterious than anything."

I nod again, "I think I got it?"

She laughs a little, relaxing from an otherwise tense posture. I can tell she has a bad feeling today and it makes me wonder if I might get reaped; a thing I don't really want to think about.

"Maybe you should go up and get ready, we don't want to be late."

I smile at her as I get up, taking my plate and hers to take to the kitchen, "I'll be back down as soon as I can."

* * *

 _Maximus Caligula, District Ten Escort_

Escorting for District Ten is always full of surprises; we might have weak tributes three years in a row and then get two tributes who wipe the competition. Next to District Seven, District Ten has the strength to rival that of the Careers. I like to believe that, if District Ten showed more loyalty to the Capitol, they'd have no issue with being able to set up their own Career academy. There was an attempt in the past but it fell through when butchers decided it made more of a perfect marketplace rather than an academy. Such a wasteful shame.

The District stays quiet through the film, silently appreciating (or at least I _hope_ that they're silently appreciating) how much the Capitol does for them. A couple nod along to the film but it's obvious they're among the most sourced ranchers by the Capitol. District Ten has become fairly favoured by the Capitol, only because meat remains a big trend. Though, no matter how favoured it's becoming, it remains the second poorest district overall.

They continue to stay quiet through the mayor's speech. Much like the other Districts that aren't One, Two and Four, they just want it over with. They want to know who to feel sorry for, want the two families to shut themselves away and that be that. I smile when I'm told in my earpiece that I can begin the selection process - I can brighten the mood.

"As always, ladies first!" I say as I walk to the female bowl of names. I look down at the girls I'll be choosing from and see a respectable fifteen or so girls. It's clear that whilst District Ten might not have a lot of victors, big families are a staple and thus explains why there's so many to choose from.

I pick a name and return to the centre of the stage, tearing the black strip that binds the name together.

"Daughter of Ajax Farrbain, Victor of the 78th Hunger Games - Lilianne Farrbain!"

Before Lilianne can make herself shown, shouts of volunteering is heard and the person who owns the voice shoves her way into the aisle, walking up and ignoring the glares from Lilianne. The volunteer is of average height with peach-toned skin, deep hazel eyes and shoulder length brown hair. Pretty, by District Ten standards, but more than likely average when compared to the District One, Two, Four and even Seven girls. She beams the entire way as she walks to take her place beside me.

"And tell us your name!" I say, my smile hurting my face. Volunteers in Ten aren't unheard of, but they aren't commonplace enough to not cause people to speak in hushed whispers.

"Daughter of Ajax Farrbain, Victor of the 78th Hunger Games - Tressa Farrbain!"

I can tell her volunteering causes a shock, mostly because her father has since passed, and she stands alone on stage. In the corner of my eye I see that a woman, presumably her mother, is weeded out from the rest of the audience. Through the ear piece I wear, I find out that she'll be accompanying her daughter in place of her father. Although Mrs. Farrbain might not be a victor herself, she spent a great deal with one and is probably the next best thing.

"Volunteering to save your sister?" I ask with an airy laugh.

She shakes her head, "Volunteering for the _glory_."

I nod as I see the audience engage in another flurry of hushed whispers. "And now, for the boys!"

Again, I walk and choose a name. This time there's a lot less boys, perhaps ten or so, and they're mostly young. There's a few more stoic looking ones at the back but, for the most part, twelve and thirteen-year-olds dominate the male reaping pool.

"Son of Sable Saddleback, Victor of the 80th Hunger Games - Citron Saddleback!"

One of the sturdier looking boys steps forward. He's tall, tanned and looks muscular. He has noticeable scars on his fingers, presumably from butchery, and has enough visible body hair to be mistaken as twenty, rather than sixteen. Still, he's attractive enough and I make a mental note for the stylists to get rid of as much body hair as possible. He doesn't look surprised as he walks up but I can see his mother is saddened by his reaping, rubbing his shoulders when he stands beside me.

"Here are the District Ten tributes for the 100th Hunger Games! You may shake hands."

I watch as the two tributes shake hands; two strong personalities from Ten this year.

It _should_ be an interesting Games this year, unlike last year where both tributes were twelve.

* * *

 **I want to start this Author's Note off by saying, before anyone suggests, _yes_ Tressa was intended for a Career district. Two, to be specific. I'm thankful her author was willing to change her district and because I always imagined Five, Seven and Ten to be the contenders for a fourth Career district, I added in nods that Career training in Ten had become a bit more commonplace following the failed Second Rebellion!**

 **I love this pair, mostly because of their strong personalities so thank you so much to Ginny Westwood and gameshungerplayer for Tressa and Citron respectively! I hope I did them justice :)**

 **! ONLY TWO MORE DISTRICTS TO GO !**

 **I'm going to try my hardest to get through these last two reapings as quickly as I can so we can get through all the goodbye procedures and get to the good stuff! I'll be doing the Goodbyes and Train Rides in two parts; twelve tributes in one part and twelve more in another and for the Train Rides they'll be from the perspective of the escorts so we can see how the Victors interact with their children! They'll probably be brief and more dialogue oriented so we can see the tributes' personalities.**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**


	12. District Eleven Reaping

_Persephone Sherwood, District Eleven Female, 13 years old_

Hearing of a thirteen-year-old from Eleven who's trained for the Games is unheard of. It's not a thing but here I stand, two years of training under my belt. The only reason I've been trained is because my father, the Victor of the 81st Hunger Games, wanted me and my siblings too. For the longest time none of us really wanted to but, just before my first reaping, I decided it'd be beneficial and fun; it'd give me something to do. In the two years I've been training, my aim has become deadly. My training remains at the basic level of being taught how to use throwing knives and identifying some edible plants, but it's better than nothing.

Usually on reaping day us kids would help out with our mother at her fruit stand, bagging up the fruits people by or trying to persuade them into buying the more expensive fruits. We do it because, since we're lucky enough to live in the Victor's Village, we don't need to take out any tesserae, we don't have as big of a worry as some families do on the reaping day so we can afford to be out and about.

Except this year, because of the Quell, we spend the morning as one big family. Although we have a grand meal that's typical for our reaping day breakfast, there's an air of solemness that lingers amongst us. It makes me slightly uncomfortable since all five of us are eligible for reaping and our parents look at us, hoping none of us are the ones reaped. Of course last year we could all be reaped but there's something different about today; our chances have been doubled, _practically_ trebled. Last night one of my brothers commented pessimistically that we'd be lucky if one of us didn't get reaped. Whilst it's not something I don't want to hear, it's true; between the five of us we make up three of the six males that can be reaped and two of the four females. The odds don't seem to be in our favour, not this time at least.

"After the reaping we'll go the fruit stand and get some fruit out from the freezer and make some smoothies," My mother says, an attempt at a warm smile being given to us, "As a little treat?"

There's a hum of approval from us and we all nod - we can have fruit smoothies whenever but there's always something a bit more special when we have them after getting through the reaping.

"All eyes will be on you lot," My father says, letting his spoon drop into his bowl, "There's only ten reapees this year instead of hundreds. If you think someone's staring at you it's probably because they are."

One of my older brothers laugh nervously and my father just shrugs. I know he doesn't mean to be so lackadaisical about things like that, but it's true; our classmates are probably going to look at us with magnifying glasses.

"Just hold yourselves straight," He advises, glance going from one of us to another, "And if one of you _does_ get reaped, I'll be with you."

Nobody in our house could forget the part of the Quell that basically meant the Victors would accompany their child to the Capitol and do whatever they could to bring them home; it makes the Quell a family effort, seeing who is the most desperate to come home. I hope for my father's sake that none of us are reaped - I can't imagine our house going from seven to six.

Still, I take refuge in knowing that if it is me that I have the training that can hopefully ensure a chance at victory.

* * *

 _Monterey Walker, District Eleven Male, 18 years old_

District Eleven isn't exactly known for it's victors. We have among the smaller victor pools meaning that there's less kids for the Capitol to reap from meaning my chance of being reaped is a lot higher than it usually would be. Being reaped because I'm the child of a victor is one of the things that reminds me how privileged we are, considering the thought otherwise would never have crossed my mind.

The only other time I've been _this_ reminded of how lucky I am to be born as my mother's son is when my girlfriend Sakura and I had a daughter, Bloom. In all fairness to us, we were sixteen and were kind of stupid - things happened perhaps when they shouldn't and the result was Bloom. No matter how much of an accident Bloom was, she's a happy accident and neither of us would change it for anything. Perhaps it was my giving nature or sympathetic one, but as soon as Bloom was born I convinced my mother to allow Sakura to live with us in our house in the Victor's Village, making us a family of five when including my younger brother, Vernal. Of course my mother, having been the one who taught me to be sympathetic and caring, had little qualms and was soon helping us raise Bloom.

Which leads us to now; the five of us sitting at the table with my mother feeding Bloom, saying classic phrases like "here comes the hovercraft!" Bloom, of course, can't get enough and claps her hands.

Vernal eats his cereal quietly and I can't help but feel for him. Not only is he too young to face the prospect of being in the Games in the first place but his first reaping has to be on the quell that makes his chances go from nothing to something much higher; his only saving grace being names like mine are in there much more than his.

"Cheer up bud," I say to him with a light smile, "Your name's only in there once. Try having it in there seven times."

Sakura nods in agreement and flashes him a smile, "The chances of you being reaped even now are _so_ slim, I wouldn't pay any attention to the thought."

He looks between the two of us and clears his throat, "Are you sure? Twelve-year-old's _do_ get reaped..."

"They do," I nod, knowing that the chance of the one slip of paper with his name on it could be picked is a possibility, "But if you live your life like that... are you living?"

"Be optimistic Vernal," My mother says with a warm, caring smile and, perhaps sensing the tenseness of the situation, Bloom uses a combination of the few words she knows to make Vernal laugh which is much appreciated by all of us.

"Exactly," Myself, Sakura and my mother say in unison.

There's a few seconds of silence, save for Bloom's giggles and banging, before my mother nods at myself and Vernal, "Maybe you two should get ready? We don't want to be late because of you two."

She speaks accompanied with a smile and you can tell it's all a joke of being late but we nod both the same. As I walk out of the room I make sure to take Bloom from my mother to relieve her of babysitting and decide to talk to her as I walk up the stairs and extend the conversation whilst I get changed.

"Maybe one day you, me and Mommy'll have to wear matching clothes," I muse to her as I finalise an outfit, putting it on with a haste about me, "That'd be cute, right?"

I turn to her and see her reaction, getting a smile and a laugh from her. It causes me to smile and swoop in and pick her up, her laugh echoing throughout the room. I ruffle her hair lightly and smile, being reminded of how lucky I am.

The thought crosses my mind that I could be reaped today but I shake it away; I've done this six times, what's a seventh? I plant a kiss on Bloom's forehead before going back downstairs.

* * *

 _Alexandria Templehorn, District Eleven Escort_

The yearly trips down to District Eleven always do make me a little depressed. I akin it to seasonal depression because, no matter how much I love the Games, it's always so mundane and, well, _depressing_ seeing all the District Eleven citizens. The children look feral, the adults _might_ spare you a second glance if you're lucky and the victors? Well, they make the thing _bearable._

Still, I always do feel powerful when I stand before the crowd of thousands. Its sometimes what I imagine being President is like and, honestly, I have to give props to President Basilicus because sometimes it can be a _little_ daunting.

"On the one hundredth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even victories withhold horrors and difficulties, the male and female tributes will be reaped from the offspring of the district's Victors within the eligible reaping ages," I announce, repeating the quell that the president had revealed only a few days ago. I continue my speech with how the Capitol is grateful for the sacrifices that the victors have made and how their hope is the light that Panem follows. A couple of people roll their eyes which I kindly ignore; we don't need me to point at people in the audience for the Peacekeepers to deal with - that'd ruin the festivities!

Most people are fascinated with the ten reapees, six males and four females, who stand staring at me with focus gazes. I bet for some it's a revenge; most of the District lives in poverty whilst the ten before me get to live a life of luxury in comparison. Of course the life is only given to them since their parent won the Games but still, it's easy to see how the bad feeling can grow. Despite the fascination and stares, however, an air of district solidarity lingers and it's hard not to feel inspired.

"As always, we'll start with the girls!"

I walk over to the bowl and shuffle the names about. I never like to take one without the shuffle; it's become a tradition and, sometimes, proves itself to be a good luck charm in picking the tributes best suited for the drama of the Games. I pick a name from the side and return to the centre, breaking the black seal on the way.

"Daughter of Asher Sherwood, Victor of the 81st Hunger Games - Persephone Sherwood!"

A small girl with a light tan emerges from the thirteen-year-old's section, a strong expression dominating her otherwise innocent face. You can see the start of tears welling up in her dark green eyes but she manages to pull through, tucking some of her reddish-brown hair behind her ear. Her father, Asher, stands beside me to wait for his daughter who he places a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it in a soothing circular motion.

I smile at the two before nodding, "And now, the boys!"

Again, I walk to the bowl and shuffle the names. There's more in this bowl than there was in the girl's bowl so I can afford to shuffle it with a bit more of a reckless abandon. I pick the name at the very bottom and, again, breaking the seal as I walk back to the microphone.

"Son of Fawna Walker, Victor of the 87th Hunger Games - Monterey Walker!"

A tall boy who looks slightly dis-proportioned with longer legs and shorter arms than usual walks from the eighteen-year-old's section. His dark tanned skin, short black hair and muscular build will make it easy for me to find him sponsors. He shows no emotions, only flinching when someone from the audience wails, eliciting a baby to cry. I don't make out the words she screams but the way those around her calm her down suggests she's of a significant other to Monterey and (I can just _imagine_ the sob stories I can market!) the baby she holds is their offspring.

His mother steps forward with a solemn look on her face and wraps an arm around Monterery's waist, squeezing it lightly.

"Here are the District Eleven tributes for the Fourth Quarter Quell! You may now shake hands."

The two look at each other and the size difference is shocking; Monterey dwarfs Persephone but Persephone's strong facial expression shows that she doesn't intend to be miscounted because of her height.

Both are escorted into the Justice Building and my head is already spinning as to all the marketing strategies I can employ to get sponsors.

* * *

 **Only one district left! I'm on an updating roll lately, I've got so much writing muse it's unbelievable! (I say as I haven't updated the 125th HG yet... whoops.)**

 **Here is our Eleven pair, Persephone and Monterey! Thank you so much to Apollostjames and District 9 Tribute for submitting them respectively! I hope I did them justice :)**

 **I guess now all we need to do is meet out pair from Twelve, do our goodbyes and train rides and then we're in the Capitol!**

 **I can already tell that by the time it comes to the Games I'll be having a hard time on figuring out who perishes in the Bloodbath. Sadly, no, there won't be another Bloodpuddle this year :(**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**


	13. District Twelve Reaping

_Brin Juniper Davis, District Twelve Female, 16 years old_

It's hard to feel united as a family today for a number of a reasons. The most obvious one is that I'm the only female reapee this year so I'll be going into the Games no matter what. Whilst it's intimidating and terrifying, I know that I'll stand a good chance. People underestimate me often, seeing me as nothing more than the kind girl. So I can only hope that I'll be underestimated in the arena and can show people what I'm really capable of and how dangerous I am. The second reason is my mother is emotionally void. Her motivation to get back home in her Games was her family and, because of it, she became a killing machine. It all caught up with her and now she feels little to no emotions. My father says she was much worse when they first got married but, over time, she's gotten better which I'm thankful for. I can only imaging just winning the Games and knowing people had to die for you to do so is bad enough, let alone the added guilt of actually killing people.

Usually I might be out giving out some of our excess food to those in the Seam. I've never bragged about being the daughter of a victor because I know there's an attached stigma especially in Twelve where so many people are in poverty. Although my mother blows a lot of her earnings each year, we still have enough to live comfortably and above the poverty line. My name'll be in the bowl five times compared to what someone else my age might have. Today, however, I've decided to spend the morning in with my family. When I told people at school what I planned to do after the Quell was announced, nobody blamed me. A couple of the girls from the Seam offered to bring me food instead but I declined. It's heartwarming to see the compassion and kindness I always try to expel into the world, albeit quietly to avoid being used and taken advantage of, is received well.

It's only my father and I at the breakfast table since my mother left for the Justice Building. Victors in Twelve had the option to either stay with their families or leave earlier and she chose the latter. I'd like to think it's because it's too hard for her to see her only child be reaped and to spend the morning with me would only make her feelings of sadness grow. Who knows, though.

"Are you ready for today Brin?" My father asks as he eats his toast slowly, looking at me with a sad smile.

I nod, taking a bite from my own toast, "As ready as I'll ever be."

"You'll be fine," He replies, but it sounds like he's reassuring himself rather than giving me comfort. I can't blame him, though, his wife never got over her Hunger Games and now his daughter is going to become a tribute. Even worse, he'll have to stay here as my mother accompanies me into the Capitol and trains me for the Games. It's surreal to think the next time he'll see me I'll either be alive and hugging him, or he'll be hugging a coffin.

I smile as I nod at him, "I'll be fine Dad, you don't need to worry."

This elicits his sad smile to get slightly chirpier and feel accomplished in knowing that I brightened his mood, even if it is just a little bit.

"Remember to listen to your mother," He says, "She's done this once, she'll be more valuable than any of the Capitol trainers."

I nod again, "I'll try and get any and all information from her."

It'll be a hard couple of weeks, but I'm determined to come back home for both of my parents.

* * *

 _Kieran Apollo, District Twelve Male, 17 years old_

Usually on reaping day I'd be out somewhere in the Seam setting fire to something. It's a fun gig - set fire to things and not get caught because I'm the son of one of the only two District Twelve victors. I love it. Today, however, my mother convinced me to stay inside against my wishes. Staying inside means I have to be near my father, the one who calls me a disgrace. He doesn't like me and I don't like him, it's a mutual dislike.

My father, Abraham Apollo, is the victor of the 82nd Hunger Games and won by decimating the Career pack in their sleep. He was a brutal killer and his personality reflects that now. Guaranteed he's more ruthless than anyone else's dad. I like my mother, though, and she's the only reason I stay inside. I decide to watch some program about fire on the TV as I eat my breakfast. Most other children of victors would probably be watching their parent's Games but I don't see the point.

Unlike them, I _know_ I'm going into the Games. There's only two children of victors in District Twelve; myself and a girl, Brin. Our parents are the only victors so, by default, we're the tributes. As much as I know I'm going into the Games, I know I'm not going to make it out on the other side. I'm more akin to my mother than that of my father. Although I am unpredictable and I'm sure my obsession with fire in the Games can get me far, I just know a Career tribute will be itching to kill me for what my father did in his Games.

As I watch the show on the TV, I try to block out the sound of my parents arguing. It's amazing how the two of them were able to have me, considering all they do nowadays is argue with one another. Sometimes the arguments get physical, mostly on my father's side, and other times my mother returns to her parents' house back in the Merchant's District for some time away. There's been times where, when my mother does the latter, I'm taken with her away from my father. As I said,it's a miracle they were able to have a kid together because I wouldn't believe it otherwise.

I don't hear a lot of their conversation, half because I've become an expert at blocking it out but also have because I make sure the TV volume is loud enough that I can't hear much over it. I don't like to listen to them arguing, mostly because my father insults me during them and, naturally, my self-esteem suffers as a result. Today though, given the nature of the Quell and how I _will_ be reaped, I decide to turn the volume down so I can listen. They're in the kitchen based on where the sound is coming from and I can only hope the argument doesn't get physical; there's a lot of surfaces my mother could be backed into.

"He's going to be reaped and you _still_ call him a disgrace?" I can hear my mother say, the tone of disbelief is unmissable.

"Well that's what he is! Being reaped isn't going to change that. A victory _might_ if he's lucky."

My father's retort hurts me, reaffirming that I'll never be seen as good enough in his eyes.

I block out the rest of the argument after that, if all that he's going to say back is insulting me, then I don't want to hear it. I only let my mind go back to it when I hear my mother's scream which causes me to run out into the kitchen.

There, undeniably so, is my mother on the floor - her blood on the kitchen counter and an injury to her head. She's still breathing and the way my father looks suggests that he's pushed her and the push was too forceful. I can tell it's not good and the way he looks at me indicates it's not good but I can't do anything because the whistle blows that demands I be at the square.

I give my father one more look before heading out of the door away from him, running.

* * *

 _Calix Aubergold, District Twelve Escort_

District Twelve was once the most undesired district to escort for, some years ago. Now it's one of great interest; nobody knows what the tributes are going to be like, how they're going to be in the arena. Since the 74th Hunger Games we've had Career tributes, first death tributes, taken down in the final two tributes and tributes who became relentless killing machines that scared even those from One, Two and Four.

No matter how interesting the tributes become, however, it always still is bleak. District Twelve remains the poorest district in Panem, unable to afford any sort of training for their teens and because of that, they look at me with the same envy with simultaneous disgust as they have done for years. I can tell now who's the most impoverished; years of escort means I've heard stories about the Seam and the Merchant district and how, really, the two could be considered as rivals of sorts at school. It's interesting because the poorest in the Capitol is still richer than the poorest in the Districts - discounted avoxes, of course.

District Twelve hardly seems enthused about the quell as I repeat it to them and why would they be? They have only two victors and each of those victors only have a child each. Really there needn't be a reaping but, as protocol demands, I must do it.

I smile at the reaping pen that holds only two people in it, a vast contrast with the hundreds otherwise.

"We'll start with the ladies."

As I walk to the bowl of female names, I can only help but look at the single girl who follows me with her eyes. She knows she's going to be reaped and I can only imagine how it must feel. There's five slips of paper in the bowl, all containing the same name, so I choose at reckless abandon. As I walk back to the microphone I break the black seal - I don't need to put everyone through the grand splendour of choosing a name, it'd just waste time.

"Daughter of Victoria Masters, Victor of the 82nd Hunger Games - Brin Davis!"

The same girl that was looking at me walks into where the aisle would distinctly be if there were more reapees before being escorted by Peacekeepers to the stage. She's of medium height, her shoulder-length dark brown hair bouncing as she walks. Her green eyes are void of any emotion and the light olive tinge to her skin gives away she is of Seam descent. Everyone remembers her mother - the girl from the Seam who became a ruthless killer because she needed to get back home to her family. A story that ended out happily.

Victoria places her hand on Brin's shoulder when the latter gets to the stage. They've had all morning to prepare for it but I can only assume it actually happening is surreal.

"And now for the boys!" I say after nodding at Brin and her mother, walking to the bowl of male names and choosing one of the six papers at random. Again, I break the seal on the way to the microphone and clear my throat before revealing the name of the male tribute.

"Son of Abraham Apollo, Victor of the 68th Hunger Games - Kieran Apollo!"

The short pale boy with blond hair longer than Brin's walks up to the stage, devoid of all emotion much like his district partner. His father steps forward but doesn't place a hand on his son's shoulder, instead choosing to stand close to him. Whatever gets you through it, I guess.

"And here are the District Twelve tributes for the One Hundredth Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favour!"

The two shake hands before being escorted into the Justice Building.

I can only say I have hope for one of them winning, the other? I'll have to see if I can change my own mind.

* * *

 **And now we're done for with the reapings! As I said, I'll be splitting the Goodbyes and the Train Rides into two parts. For the former, it'll be split between the first six districts and the second six and, for the latter, it'll be of the Escort's POVs so we can see some dialogue and interaction!**

 **As always, thank you so much to Irew2376 and SparkALeah for Brin and Kieran respectively! I hope I did them justice :)**

 **If I'm still on an editing role, we might be at the point of the Games by the end of next week!**

 **Also, cheeky plug, go submit for the 125th HG B) There's a ton of spots left (see which ones on my profile) and read the first chapter for the form and some guidelines!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**


	14. Goodbyes Pt 1

**I was going to explain this in a couple of the POVs but that'd take away from the actual goodbye so, as per the Quell, their victor parents won't be saying goodbye to them now considering they're accompanying them to the Capitol.**

 **Naturally I've tried my best to make each goodbye the same length (550-600 words each) but some might be longer and some might be shorter depending on how much I feel I can pull from their family! :)**

* * *

 _Wednesday Diamante, District One Female, 17 years old_

The first to enter into the room is my father. He's alone meaning my siblings will be coming in a bit separately. All he can do is smile and beam at me, proud that a third child out of the five of us is going into the Games. That was always his and mom's wish; to have all five of us be victors. Things always weren't so lucky. My eldest brother, Rodrick, died when I was six after getting to the final four in the 88th Hunger Games and his twin, Raven, decided not to volunteer because of his death. Nehemiah wasn't chosen as the volunteer for his eighteenth birthday Games which left Serenity and myself. Since Serenity won four years ago I've become the shadowed child with so much expectation weighted on her shoulders. It's why I'm so desperate to win these Games. I _need_ to make a name for myself in my parents' eyes.

"We're so proud of you, you know that?" He says as he sits beside me, brushing some of my hair out of my forehead. It's the words I've been craving for years and now I have them.

The smile that was already on my face grows and I feel like I did when I was fourteen and got praised for being one of the best in the training class after spending hours after designated times practising. "Really?" I ask, almost in disbelief that I, the youngest Diamante, is being praised to a similar standard as Rodrick and Serenity.

"Of course," He replies, laughing airily - a laugh reserved for jokes made by Serenity usually, "Now you know I have to go but just remember, be a Diamante and you'll have no trouble winning."

My heart sinks a little hearing it because _of course_ his job, being protection for the mayor, would demand him to leave me just as he's praising me the way I've wanted for so long. My happy smile saddens and I can only hug him tightly before he goes.

As expected, my sisters file in afterwards and shower me in hugs. Nehemiah can't be here since he's a Peacekeeper in Seven but I'm sure he'll be proud when he watches the reapings and see me, his youngest sister, volunteer. I like to think Rodrick's proud too, it's a comforting thought.

"You've got this," Serenity says to me, cupping my face in her hands, "If I can do it, you'll have no problem."

Although she's been the golden Diamante, Serenity still has a kind air about her so it's nice to see it showing. As she cups my face, Raven cups my hands and I can feel something cold being placed in my palm. I look down and see my mother's tulip brooch, the same one I remembering hearing stories about how she had to snap the pin part off to be allowed it in the arena. Serenity had it and I can only assume Rodrick had it at one point and now it's my turn. Since having children Raven's turned more motherly and she plants a kiss to my forehead.

"None of us can wait until we meet the Diamante victor of the 100th Hunger Games," She says, smiling.

If this is how I'm treated as a volunteer, I can only imagine how I'll be treated as a Quell Victor.

* * *

 _Aluxor "Alux" Gleam, District One Male, 18 years old_

My mother, younger sister and younger brother all enter the room at the same time and I smile - saves me having to look at the velvet couches. I'm sure if I was in an Outer District I'd be marvelling at how expensive it looks but I'm from One and the _Victor's Village_ at that. Velvet isn't anything new to me. Seeing my siblings makes me somewhat glad I didn't pick an argument with them last night; we always fight and the last thing I want is them _ruining_ my day of glory.

There's an air of nonchalance amongst them and I can't blame them; I've been working for this since I started training at the academy. No matter the outcome of my Games, both Chantelle and Rex will be expected to follow in mine and my father's footsteps.

"Can you win so I can go around bragging about it and then become the golden girl of the Academy?" Chantelle says as my mother had opened her mouth to say something, interjecting her quickly.

"Yeah maybe get as many kills as dad?" Rex chimes in. He hasn't started his training properly yet but we make sure in our household that everyone knows the importance of being related to a victor.

"We're all gonna be victors," I say confidently, "It's in our blood. Dad didn't get nineteen kills and hold that record for us to not become victors ourselves."

My mother, being from Two, only smiles at us proudly and the way we talk. However annoyed I get because of Chantelle and Rex, both are as dedicated to becoming victors as I am. We have to be - to let Brandius' the Brute's legacy die out with nothing to show for it would be a travesty, the missed opportunity in the history of the Hunger Games.

"Remember to listen to your father," My mother says with a pointed nod, "If you're lucky you might be able to beat his record number of kills."

The thought makes me smile because nineteen kills is unheard of, or was, until my father came along and proved you could do it. It did cause a little bit of an outrage because it seemed like it was the Brandius Show rather than The Hunger Games and ever since they've tried to limit it using mutts and arena events, but I'm sure I'll be able to do it. Besides, if anyone's to do it, it's fitting for his son to be the one to break it.

"Of course," I say with a nod - he's probably got the most valuable information about how to win than any of the other victors, "I'll make sure to come home a victor."

"Good!" Chantelle chimes in, always wanting to speak whenever she has a chance, "As I said, then I can be the golden girl and beat you when I volunteer in a few years!"

I roll my eyes, though there's something endearing about what she says; it's obvious she intends to volunteer and it'll just go to show that Brandius, the golden boy of the Capitol, will have a golden legacy.

When the time comes for my family to leave, we all share hugs and I'm given final words of encouragement - even from Chantelle and Rex, which I find shocking.

"Do you want my locket as a token?" My mother asks, going to take it off from the back of her neck and I shake my head instantly.

"I'm coming back, why do I need one?"

She stops and smiles slightly, "Good luck Aluxor, we love you."

I hope that Wednesday girl doesn't have any intentions of seeing her family again, because I'm the one who's going to be coming home.

* * *

 _Arial "Ari" Marbler-Tiberius, District Two Female, 18 years old_

I'm not in the designated room for long before my mother, older sister and younger brother come in to say goodbye. It's weird seeing my mother considering I didn't see her this morning but at least she's here now. We might not be super close but to have her show up means a lot.

We sit in silence, probably because this is the first time we've all sat together in close proximity to one another in ages. Whilst my siblings and I are definitely closer to each other than our mother, our bond is pretty thin and I wouldn't put it past either Cima or Quintus to sell me out to better themselves and, likewise, I'm sure they wouldn't put it past me. I guess that's our relationship; you don't sell me out and I won't sell you out, which works perfectly for me.

"Why'd you volunteer Arial?" My mother asks after the silence has lingered for a decent while, probably taking up half of their allocated visiting time. I know my mother's asking because we've all seen - heard - what happened to my father because of his time in the arena. I'm sure we've all had nightmares because of his nightmares.

"To carry on Dad's legacy," I say, looking at her seriously, "And the trainers in the Academy said I'd be the best fit for the female volunteer this year."

Quintus, having just joined the Academy, nods, "All the trainers rave about her - she's a standard for the girls to meet."

I flash a small smile at him, thankful he's backing me up.

"So you're just going to willingly subject yourself to the same torture as Dad?" Cima asks, her eyes narrowing a little. I figure she's coming from a place of care, concern, but just because she never thought she could handle it doesn't mean I can't.

"Just because it happened to him doesn't mean it'll happen to me," I defend, "And clearly he thinks so too because he's helped trained me."

Again, Quintus nods, "He's given the both of us tips on how to not have the same nightmares as him."

Cima rolls her eyes a little. She doesn't like having to do family stuff at the best of times so I guess this, shaking up her regular world, wouldn't put her in the best frame of mind anyway.

"I've volunteered now so there's nothing we can do about it," I say, gaze switching from Cima to Quintus and to my mother.

There's another silence that lingers amongst us before my mother clears her throat.

"Just try to come back home, okay?" She says, giving me a small smile. It's not much, but it's sincere and reminiscent of the times before she turned to alcohol to deal with whatever problems she had - probably Dad's nightmares. It's not a lot, but it's enough for me to feel happy again and it elicits a smile from me.

"I will Mom, promise."

She opens her arms for a hug and I don't hesitate to enter it. She still smells like alcohol but I ignore it - she's more sober today than I've ever seen her and it's the thought that she has that counts.

When it comes for them to go, we all have a group hug with Cima and Quintus conceding and hugging me tightly before I go. It gives me more of a motivation to come back home; to see a changed family where we're a lot closer to one another. The smile I give them as they go is one of sadness but, as soon as the door closes, I realise what I have to do to come back home.

* * *

 _Hyperion Petra, District Two Male, 18 years old_

The first people who come to visit me are my older brothers, Ares and Scorpius. Since I can't have my mother, my victor parent, say goodbye to me, Ares is the best source of knowledge I have since he himself is a victor. My father always wanted us to be victors and Ares fulfilled it, so he's in Dad's good books. Elladora at least tried and she's held in high regards. Scorpius never volunteered so he and our father are on shaky terms and me? Well, our father doesn't approve of some preferences I have so this is my chance to at least show him I'm someone who can be held in the same regards as Ares and Elladora. If I'm honest, I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't show up to visit and say goodbye, though he'd probably play it off when I come back as him being 'positive' I'd return.

"The best bit of advice I can give you," Ares says as he sits next to me, "Is you've got the pairs of One and Four who know the same stuff you do and, this goes without saying, but watch out for the outer District kids. If you think family means something to us then you've never heard kids from Ten, Eleven or Twelve talk about how determined they are to go home."

I nod, listening intently. My competitiveness begs to say something about how I'll naturally be the best Career but I hold back. As I said, Ares is giving me some advice other tributes might not have. "What about the younger tributes? You know, the fifteen-year-olds where they can end up being vicious if they try?"

He shrugs, "Just see what you make of them during training. It'll be obvious if they're a threat or not." He stops for a second before shrugging again, "In the arena you're on high alert anyway. You'd be an idiot to let your guard down."

I nod again and turn to Scorpius, "Have you got any advice? Anything Dad shouted at you when he decided you were worse than me?"

"Ha, funny." Scorpius says with a irritated smile before he shakes his head, "I wasn't good enough to have any ironic tips thrown in my face by him. Just don't do what Elladora did and put too much trust in your allies."

Elladora dying because her allies betrayed her reminds me to always be hesitant of people. Her death added determination and drive for me, but also the reasoning to always be weary of people.

"You know I'd love to stay for longer Hy, but I gotta go back to the family," Ares says, getting up and of course Scorpius would use it as an excuse to leave too. I don't blame him - I bet the whole atmosphere reminds him of the day our father blew up at him.

I nod, waving a hand dismissively to tell him not to worry, "Tell the kids I'll see them soon."

He nods with a smile, allowing the Peacekeeper to help him exit, "See you soon."

My father's visit, whilst expected, is short. He enters in not too long after my brothers leave and, for a second, I think he's going to degrade me. To tell me not to pull any unnatural stuff in the arena and that if I even so much _look_ at another guy in 'that disgusting way,' that my win is invalid. But, surprisingly, he doesn't.

"Just don't mess it up," Is all he says, not even looking at me and instead chooses to look out of the window.

"I won't," Is all I can say in return and he turns to face me and nods before leaving without saying another word.

Maybe when I come back a victor I'll experience the same affection Ares does.

* * *

 _Theodora "Thea" Edison, District Three Female, 17 years old_

My mother and only one of my older siblings, my sister Astoria, come to visit to say goodbye to me, both enveloping me in a hug immediately. I don't mind that my other siblings don't come; they've got their only families and, because my family is somewhat popular, they're probably outside answering questions about me and my Dad so I can't ask for anything more. Besides, I saw them all last night and it'd be a shame to ruin that memory with the sombre atmosphere in the goodbye room.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you Thea," My mother says, her face contorted into one of sadness as she runs a hand through my hair, "You don't deserve this, nobody does."

I smile sadly and lean into her touch. I tried to portray the cunning girl when I was reaped; the one who held a poise and had a small cunning smile to deflect from how nervous I was. The only give away was how I balled my fists up and I'm sure that's how my mother noticed how nervous I was, how nervous I am. Her hold is comforting and I'm brought back to when I was younger.

"She has a good chance," Astoria says with a nod, a hand moving to rub my shoulder comfortingly, "You and Dad have always said she's exceptionally smart - her brain'll be her biggest weapon."

"Yeah," I say, voice shaky from all of the nerves I'm experiencing, "If I can get some supplies for traps I can just set them down and wait for the other tributes to die and then I can claim a victory right?"

I don't want to kill anyone myself, not through combat. We've always said if a tribute dies via a trap it's their own fault for being so careless, so I'm optimistic I won't feel any guilt if my traps do kill people.

My mother nods slowly, hand still running through my hair, "It's your best bet as someone who doesn't want to kill anyone."

I nod back in response, my smile getting bigger, "I don't want to kill anyone, that's not the values you brought us up on."

"At least try and use a weapon in the training?" Astoria suggests and I turn to face her, a quizzical gaze being shot at her, "You don't have to use it but if it's just you and someone else and you can't get them to one of your traps, knowing how to wield a sword or _something_ might just save your life." She goes silent for a few seconds before smiling sadly at me, "I just want you to come home."

I can see her logic, but then I can't call myself a pacifist. The term says all violence is unjustifiable and whilst I'm sure a life or death situation might just be the clause I'd need to continue to call myself one afterwards, I'm not sure if I'd ever be able to life with the knowledge that I've killed someone. At least with the traps I can happily (or as happily as I can) assume that someone pushed the tribute into it and that it's not my fault directly. Killing someone with a weapon, though? I'd have to take ownership of that and the thought scares me.

I think my mother can sense my discomfort at the idea because she smiles at me, "Just stay true to you, Thea. That's the most important thing. We don't want to lose our baby, do we?"

"You won't," I say confidently, hugging them both again as a Peacekeeper comes into the room to signal they have to go.

"Whatever happens," My mother says as she gets up, "We love you so much."

"I love you too," I say as they're ushered out the door and I can only hope they heard it.

* * *

 _Dell Vodafone, District Three Male, 14 years old_

Only my brother and my aunt can come and visit me, the reunion with my father being saved for the train ride to the Capitol. As I wait for them, my mind wanders to the thought that some tributes might not have anyone other than their victor parents and then that means they have this period of time alone and that probably makes the whole thing scarier. Even now, knowing I have people to come visit me, I can feel my breath going and the all too familiar sensation of needing to hyperventilate returning. Thinking about how I must look to the rest of Panem only intimidates me. I'm about to go through all the festivities I'm about to face like the chariots before the door opens and Boeing and my aunt enter.

"You're gonna be fine Dell," is the first thing Boeing says to me as soon as he's in the room, probably knowing how fast my mind, and heart for that matter, is racing, "Just listen to whatever Dad says and you'll be fine."

"You can build traps quicker than him, remember?" My aunt continues, feeding off the energy that Boeing is expelling, "As long as you get scraps or _anything_ for that matter, you'll be good."

"What about the other tributes though?" I ask, knowing that it might be good that I can craft traps but if there's a Career or someone on my tail, I won't be able to do anything. "What do I do when there's someone chasing after me?"

"Outrun them," My aunt says, "Craft and move at night? You've seen on the TV how they move at night with torches sometimes, you'll be able to see them coming and then you run."

"A knife's not hard to use Dell, probably not that hard to find," Boeing says, interjecting my aunt, "Just... Just listen to whatever Dad says, he'll steer you in the right path and won't let you down."

I nod, knowing that he won't. I will admit that as they spoke about the Games I could feel the nerves returning but what they said is right; I can craft stuff at night if I have to and a knife is a useful tool to have, even if I don't use it in combat.

"Oh!" My aunt says, rummaging through her pockets to find something, "I almost forgot to give you your token."

The token in question, when she pulls it out, is a locket. We can't get it to unclasp and I can only assume that it's been years since it's last been opened.

"It was what your Dad gave your Mom on one of their anniversaries," My aunt says as she places it in my palm, smiling at me warmly, "He told me he was going to give it to you on the train but decided the sooner, the better."

I look down at it and smile a little. My mother died when I was young so I don't have too many memories of her but to have this feels as if she's with me again, which is probably why my Dad wanted me to have it. It's calmed me down and all anxious, nervous thoughts about the next two weeks have disappeared.

"Thanks," I say, still marvelling at it, allowing my curiosity to remain with it.

"We'll see you soon, okay?" My brother says, getting up and I look at them, standing up myself to give them one last hug, "You'll come back as Dell Vodafone, Victor of the 100th Hunger Games, right?"

I smile a little of his words and nod, "Right."

He too smiles and they both wave as they're led out. When the door closes, my attention returns back to the locket and how soon I'll be with my father.

* * *

 _Arika Tulius, District Four Female, 16 years old_

I'm sure for anyone who knows me as the bubbly, energetic girl, to see me smile smugly at my brother as I volunteer is a shock. I promise I'm nice and still the energetic girl but when it comes to the competition between me and my brother? He acts like I've offended him personally so I always decide to respond aptly. Besides, it's not my fault I'm two years younger and better than him, he should train harder.

My mother and other brother, Narayan, come to visit me. From the way they're smiling, I can only assume they're visiting me first and Zale second and I don't blame them - Zale's a man of few words and they'd know better not to waste their time there and only go when it's closer to the end of the allocated times to say goodbye.

"You don't know how proud of you we are," My mother says with a beaming smile as she pulls me into a quick hug, "And I'm sure your father is _just_ as happy!"

"At least one Tulius volunteered," Narayan remarks smugly, sitting beside me which causes me to shoot him a smile. He's not involved in mine and Zale's sibling rivalry (though Zale _loves_ to try and include him but I think it's just because he knows going after Narayan, who's still training, is the only way he'll ever beat _one_ Tulius sibling) but I appreciate having him on my side when I can.

"Well, not all of us can volunteer, can we?" I say, laughing airily. I'll make sure to never let Zale live it down. I'll just add it onto the growing list of why our parents prefer me - right below me being a more skilled Career than he is.

"Now Arika," My mother says, getting slightly serious, setting her hands on top of mine in my lap, "You know there's a chance the final two will be you and Zale and I just want to say that we love you both _equally_ and no matter what happens, we still love you."

See? She's not even _entertaining_ the idea that Zale'll kill me. Nobody does, really. In the academy everyone wondered if we'd be the next sibling duo to win consecutively or if one of us would kill the other and, well, it'll be the latter with me coming out alive.

"Whatever's supposed to happen'll happen Mom," I reply with a smile. I think we both know what it means but I don't want to say it - jinxing it is the last thing I want to do.

"If you come back, can you help me train?" Nayaran asks, "I'd ask Zale but everyone knows he thinks I've got something out for him so I doubt he'd come near me in fear I'm gonna try and upstage his victory - _if_ he wins, that is."

I nod with a grin, teasingly ruffling his hair, "Of _course_ , what kind of sister would I be? You're not Zale, I can show kindness to you."

"Just try not to kill Zale before you get into the arena," My mother jokes as she, my brother and I hug once more.

As they get up to go I give them a small wave, "Try and have a decent conversation with Zale!"

Both my mother and Narayan give me a look that just tells me that they won't and I smile. I guess I'll be able to steal most of the sponsors with my personality.

* * *

 _Zale Tulius, District Four Male, 18 years old_

Sometimes I wish my family wasn't so competitive and susceptible to favouritism. It seems like in our family if you're not Arika, then our parents don't want to know. Hell, even Narayan gets more attention than I do and, as the eldest, that sucks - big time. Perhaps if Arika wasn't so competitive, we'd be in a loving family and not one where I'm constantly glossed over in favour of her.

Speaking of people preferring her to me, I sit in the designated goodbye room and watch as the clock ticks on. Nobody bar the private trainers my parents hired for myself and Arika have come to visit me and, even then, I got the impression that they were just waiting about for my mother and Narayan, presumably, to finish up visiting Arika so they go visit her. I have to constantly remind myself that none of our family's preferential treatment will help her in the arena - in there I can kill her on the first night and that be that, if I wanted. I won't though; the satisfaction to not save her when she needs me the most and then me going on to be crowned Victor will be far more satisfying.

The Peackeeper in my room seems to notice that nobody's visiting me and, I can hear through the helmet, "Got nobody to visit you?"

I tell he's smirking and, had it held no consequences, I have half a mind to beat him down as a little pre-Games warm-up but I restrain myself.

"They'll come," I say simply, looking out of the window. People still gather outside of the Justice Building, probably itching to see when my sister and I are moved towards the train. The fascination to see the tributes leave is there every year but this year it's probably so much better because it's _slbings_ who're going into the arena. One volunteering sibling and one, well, reaped. That lingers on my mind, how I was reaped, but I also think about how nobody volunteered over me and that means more than just screaming your name as loud as you can. Besides, if she was reaped, Arika would make a whole deal on how it was fate that brought her to the Games and that it's her destiny to win - or something like that.

I'm about to give up on anyone coming to visit me when my mother and Narayan _eventually_ come through the door. I have to force back an eye roll because, as much as it annoys me that I'm a second choice, they're still here and that does mean something.

"Well, I don't think your father and I could be any prouder if we tried," My mother says as she sits beside me, opening her arms for a hug. Begrudgingly I move into it, hugging her back. If this is what she's doing to convince herself she's treating us equally, then so be it.

"Well I didn't volunteer," I say, glancing up at her, "So that has to take some of the pride away, right?"

"Nobody volunteered over you though," Narayan says on the other side of me and I shrug.

"No, but half of the reason of being a Career is volunteering, no? Just goes to show Arika wins - _again_."

My mother remains silent. It's not the first time I've subtly called her out on the treatment Arika gets in comparison to me, but I guess the situation is just making things worse.

I remain by the window and wave a hand dismissively, "I'll see you when I come back home. Try not to hold a grudge against me when Arika doesn't come home."

I nod to a Peacekeeper to signal that the two are escorted out. I turn away so I don't have to see my mother's reaction - I don't need that, I think I've made my point.

* * *

 _Henriella Fireband, District Five Female, 15 years old_

I don't expect many people to come visit me - apparently they got 'bored' of the way I always talk about my father's victory, but they wouldn't get it. They're not from legacies like mine, their destiny isn't to win the Hunger Games like it is mine. Me volunteering proved to all of them how serious I am. I've heard some of them doubt me at school but today I proved them all wrong.

To be in the same position that my father was in before he entered the Games is an interesting feeling. It's a positive one, but interesting. I can imagine him sitting here, comparing past strategies seen in the Games and deciding on which one to go for. Of course he went for the brute who just killed mercilessly despite being only fifteen and, naturally, I'll be following suit. I can imagine him waiting here for his parents to show up. Of course, the two differences are that he was reaped whilst I volunteered and his Games were a normal Games and I'll be winning the Fourth Quarter Quell.

I look up and watch as the clock ticks by, wishing down the hours so I can be in the Capitol and begin to taste what my life'll be like after the Games. I have no doubts that I'll be the new female mentor for District Five that we desperately need. The youngest female victor is in her fifties and I doubt she can carry on doing it for much longer. My knowledge, being a recent victor, will be irreplaceable.

When the door opens, I feel myself jump in surprise. I hadn't expected anybody to come and to see I have a visitor makes me happy. Perhaps people are finally realising that when I come home they'll have to speak to me so the sooner they make better relations with me, the better for them. My gaze shifts from the window to see who came and I'm shocked to see my older brother, Oliver. Like many, he had written me off, 'bored' of how obsessed I was with our father's victory. Just because he wasn't doesn't mean I could be and I think he never got his head around it.

We don't say anything for a good few seconds, him just looking me up and down and, presumably, trying to figure out what to say to me. I don't blame him - I'm sure my glory is making him speechless right now.

"So you _really_ did it?" He asks, arms crossed as he remains close to the door, close to the Peacekeeper in the room.

I nod, "Of course. How else will I continue the Fireband legacy? You chose not to, so it's up to me."

"We're not obliged to keep it up, Henrielle," He says, "It's not ou-"

"It might not be _your_ destiny Oliver," I say, interrupting his negativity, "But it's mine. In two weeks you'll be son of one victor and brother to another so what's the complaint? When dad passes I'll let you stay in my house in the Victor's Village, don't worry."

He doesn't say much, only blinks. Again, probably speechless because I'm _exuding_ glory right now. He just nods a little, looks me up and down and turns and leaves. I don't hear what he mutters under his breath, but it sounds like something along the lines of "As if you'll get that far," and I have to laugh after the door closes.

He, like many will, is underestimating me and I can't wait to prove him wrong and return home as the victor of these Games.

* * *

 _Emmet Truman, District Five Male, 15 years old_

The only person who comes to visit me is my younger brother, Walt. He's still shaken up from being reaped - that much is obvious in the way he clings close to me and looks around with hesitancy. Today hasn't been the easiest of days for him and we both know now that he'll be alone for the next two weeks. Nobody'll bother him in our house at the Victor's Village because we're a liked family - if anything people'll bring him food and stuff and check up to make sure he's okay.

"You didn't have to volunteer for me," He says, eyes cast downwards, "Because now you're going into the arena and, even worse, that girl's your partner..."

Everybody knows of Henriella Fireband and her obsession with the Games. The thought of having to spend time with her is slightly unnerving but I'll push through it. Besides, I'd rather it be me dealing with her than Walt; I can only imagine how intimidated he'd be by her.

"You're too young for the arena Walt," I say with a warm smile as he looks up at me, "And I'll be okay - I'm fast, remember? I'm sure I can outrun all of the other tributes if I have to. And her... well, I think she'll be too caught up in herself to pay me any attention."

"You'll try your hardest to come back home, right?" Walt asks, eyes looking slightly more hopeful with the prospect of me outrunning everyone, "Like, you have a chance to come home?"

I don't doubt that I have a chance to come home - every tribute does - but I won't know until I see the other tributes. Still being young, Walt doesn't know that yet. You tend to learn more about the Games after your first reaping so the teachers at school can use the most recent tribute as an example and use your emotions to help you learn better, so I can't blame him for being excessively optimistic.

"I can try my best," I say with a nod, ruffling his hair a little, "Whatever happens though, you'll be okay."

A small smile appears on his face and he appears content with my answer and reassurance that he'll be okay. I don't think there's ever been a time where someone's been reaped twice in the history of the Games and, as the reaping pool will always be bigger for him, I doubt he'd ever be reaped again.

We sit in silence for a few seconds before Walt pulls something from his pocket and presents it to me with a smile, "Can you have this as your token?"

The object he presents me is a bit of rubble with a piece of shattered solar panel attached to it. I don't know, given the nature of it, that I'll be able to take it into the arena but I'm sure I'll be able to keep it for as long as possible. I nod as I let him place it into my palm and my fingers wrap around it, gripping it as if it's the last thing I have of Walt.

"Thanks," I say with a smile, marvelling at it for a little more.

The Peacekeeper in the room moves to open the door and, instantly, Walt and I hug each other tightly before we're broken up and he's led out.

"Try to come home!" He shouts and I can hear the desperation in his voice.

"I will!" I should back, even though the door closes and I'm unsure if he heard me or not.

At least I have something to fight for and that's seeing Walt again.

* * *

 _Matilde Marvee, District Six Female, 16 years old_

I won't lie, I'm quite surprised when I see my Aunt and my sister walk through the door to say goodbye to me. Maybe my Aunt has see the beauty of the Games and has come to wish me farewell? I hope so.

My sister, Eadlyn, immediately runs over to me and hugs me tightly, burying her face in my chest and I, happily, wrap my arms around her too. My Aunt Kappa, on the other hand, sits on the edge of the sofa, hands in her lap and smiling thinly over at us. She never wants Eadlyn to spend loads of time with me in fear that she'll develop the same views about the Hunger Games as I do and the way she sits only reaffirms to me that she still doesn't share my view. That's a pity; it must be hard to live in a world without seeing the true beauty.

"I'm sorry this happened to you Matilde," She says, despite knowing that, for me, this is one of the best things ever, "I wouldn't wish it upon anyone."

"It's quite alright," I say, a hand running through Eadlyn's hair as she sniffles her tears away, "I'll be surrounded by so much beauty that I'll be fine and when I come home, we'll be able to have double the beauty."

Her smile doesn't get any larger and at first chance of Eadlyn moving away, she scoops her up and places her next to her, an arm wrapping around my sister protectively. When I come back home as a Victor, one of _true_ beauty, she won't be able to deny our bond.

"I hope... I hope your beauty can ensure that you'll be merciful and kind to those in the arena."

I nod, smiling, "Oh it will. It'll also help me be violent and do things when I have to if need be."

I can see the way she tenses. A woman who despises violence, she hasn't spoken to my mother in years because of her two kills in the Games. That's where Aunt Kappa falls short; she fails to see the appeal in survival, the beautiful way people will give up morals if they're desperate enough and, in the arena, my mother was and she's _enchantingly beautiful_ because of it.

"If your mother can give you any tips," She continues, choosing to gloss over my words, more than likely not wanting to even _entertain_ the idea of killing someone for survival, "Listen to them. She's been in these Games once and she'll be your most useful guide."

I already intend to listen to whatever my mother has to tell me; her wisdom will be the thing that will help me unlock the true beauty of the Games - the things that we cannot see by just watching them on the TV. I already know I'll be muse to artists in the Capitol. Poets, writers, painters - _anyone_ \- can use me as their muse to create beauty in the world and that is what I'm most excited about. With the tips from my mother, I'll be able to be the most stunning muse ever in the arena.

"Of course," I reply, "I'm waiting on bated breath."

Aunt Kappa simply nods and, for the remainder of the goodbye time we have together, we sit in silence. She begrudgingly allows Eadlyn to stay close to me in our final few moments together, letting us hug one another and allows me to tell her that I will return home and that one day she too will know the beauty of the Games. When the Peacekeeper motions for them to go, she wastes no time in taking Eadlyn by the hand and giving me a seldom goodbye wave before tending to Eadlyn who cries at being separated from me.

I feel upset for a moment too, before I remind myself that it won't be the last time I see her.

* * *

 _Caspian Lochgear, District Six Male, 17 years old_

It sounds stupid but the first thing I think of when I see the six siblings that can come visit me is how out of place they - we, when I'm with them - look without our mother. All of my siblings that can visit me are here; Antoinette, Blossom, Octavia, Cogneto, Aeron and Montgomery. We were all the ones eligible for reaping and now we all sit in the room with me being the tribute. We expected this to happen, really, it would've been a shock if it hadn't. It'd be nicer of Arabella and Andromeda could be here but I'm hoping that I might be able to see them in the Capitol when we go there.

"I can't believe this happened to you," Antoinette says in disbelief and the memory of us helping Aeron and Montgomery get dressed becomes raw in my mind, "I... I'm so sorry Cas."

Although some would say we'd be divided between the five girls and the four boys, it's not the case. We're all equally as close and that's why we all knew this reaping would hit us hard. Last night we all agreed that we'd be surprised if it wasn't two of us going into the arena.

"You'll be fine though, right?" My younger brother, Cogneto says optimistically, "You're probably one of the strongest non-Careers going! You can do it Cas!"

Despite the situation I'm in, I can't help but smile at my siblings' optimism. If they believe in me then maybe I do have a chance of coming back home a victor. The thought, not even the consideration, of myself as a victor seems foreign but, like Cogneto said, I'm strong - working out became one of the few things that relieved the stress from when my father died and I stepped up alongside Antoinette as helpers for our mother.

Blossom, the quiet and studious one out of the bunch of us, smiles at me, "Your biggest challenge will be the Bloodbath, naturally. If you can get through that then you'll be able to decide if you want to be a dominating threat in the Games or wait it out."

Octavia nods, "We wouldn't judge you on whatever you do - we know how who you are in the arena doesn't reflect who you are outside of it."

Aeron and Montgomery remain quiet for the most part, being cuddled by Octavia and Blossom. I don't blame them - I'm not really in the most talkative of moods despite the encouraging words from my siblings.

"I'll try my best," I say, nodding at them, "I'll do it for us, for mom."

"Do it for yourself too," Antoinette says, "And make sure you say hi to Arabella and Andromeda for us."

I nod, an airy laugh sounding out before we all pile into one big hug. For a brief few seconds, I forget about how I'm about to be sent to the Capitol where there's a high chance I could be killed. Instead, I let myself be enveloped in the familial love and pretend it's last night where we all hugged each other before going to bed.

It's sad to see them go when they have to leave and I make sure to hug each of them tightly individually, promising every single one of my siblings that I'll come home. I want to do it for them, so we can live the rest of our lives undisturbed.

* * *

 **And here's the first part of our goodbyes done! It took me a while, but here we are!**

 **It's a massive chapter, but y'all deserve it B)**

 **With each tribute I tried to accentuate something more of their character. If you didn't get it, here's the list; Wednesday (being forgotten), Aluxor (his arrogance), Ari (the family dynamic), Hyperion (a little more into why he's so badly trying to impress his dad), Thea (closeness of the family), Dell (his anxious side), Arika (her confidence in her abilities and some insight in the family dynamic), Zale (how he wants to have a good family life but also how he's full of grudges), Henriella (just her obsession with her father's legacy), Emmet (relationship with Walt), Matilde (more creepiness!) & Caspian (a bit more into his siblings and his personality)!**

 **I hope that I did all the tributes mentioned justice! If there's any mistakes, do excuse them, I'm still in a rough lack of writing inspiration mood (though I did enjoy writing this chapter, so!) and I'll come back later and fix any errors.**

 **Do update me in your charts if any opinions of the tributes have changed! I'm curious to see!**

 **I'll see you with the next twelve tributes!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**


	15. Goodbyes Pt 2

_Ashley Greene, District Seven Female, 17 years old_

I don't know what's worse; being reaped for the Games or having it confirmed to be further that the crazy Victor of Seven is my father. Considering my life before today, both seem like pretty terrible stuff to have happened to me. Part of me wonders if my lack of memories of him and my mother and, well, life before living with my uncle were due to me just wanting to forget about them. My father being brought behind me was the closest we've been by each other probably since I was a child. In the glimpse I got before we left, I saw two things in his eyes; an apologetic gleam, as if he was sorry that he couldn't give me the life of a Victor's child but, in another sense, he looked at me in bewilderment - I guess I must resemble his twin enough that, for a second, he believed she was back.

That's another hard bit. On the TV screen in the room, presumably there to help pass the time between the last farewell and the time to leave the District, plays a rerun of my father's Games. I've watched it enough times now but, as unmistakable as ever, it shows him and his sister Briar being reaped. As it did the first time I watched it, it seems weird seeing Mr. Green - Father - look so normal and, oddly enough, peaceful. I suppose the years of watching tributes die at his hands and having a daughter that brought him back into the arena mentally hadn't got to him yet.

I must be too out of it, that or I just look confused still, because I _hear_ Aspen before I see him.

"Well maybe my advice of cheering up wasn't the best," He says as the doors close behind him, causing my gaze to snap onto him quickly, "But you can't blame a guy for _trying_ to make you feel better."

I don't waste a second in running over to him, letting myself be enveloped in his arms. It's a place a comfort, one that's about to be ripped away from me.

"What am I going to do Aspen?" I ask, looking up at him and feeling the all too familiar sensation of tears threatening to fall. I don't need to cry for a second time today; crying at the reaping was embarrassing enough. "How am I going to get through this?"

On any other occasion I'd expect Aspen to look confused at the way I'm worrying, an anomaly for me and my personality - but he doesn't. Not this time. I suppose he can't blame me; the biggest worry we had as a duo before today was not reaching the quota at work or getting the right grades at school, both of which could be remedied relatively easy. If I mess up in the Games, I'm dead and gone forever. That's why I worry.

"You're from Seven, Ash," He says as he helps tuck away a few strands of hair that have escaped from my bun behind my ears, "Next to the Careers and maybe Ten, you're the only one who has any sort of weapons experience. I doubt a lot of Victors trained their kids in weapon skills - that's like a shitty way to foreshadow them being reaped."

There's a second of silence as I take in his words, listening to them and considering them. Being from Seven, we all know that we have this advantage but I guess nobody really considers it until they have to use an axe on anything but a tree.

"You've got this," He reaffirms, rubbing soothing circles into my upper arms as he pulls a way a little, flashing me the most comforting smile I've ever seen him bear. "As someone from Seven, I'm proud that you're going to be one of the ones representing us. You've got the best chances."

I don't say anything, I just hug him tightly again. As I said, if this place of comfort is going to be taken away from me, I want to hold onto it for as much as possible.

* * *

 _Hunter Moonseed, District Seven Male, 17 years old_

There's only one person who can come and visit me and that's Ivy. It's a weird feeling, sitting by her for potentially the last time ever, but nobody can live their lives being that pessimistic. For a moment, my wanders to those who know they're not coming back and how they have to spend the Goodbyes actually saying goodbye.

Ivy and I, whilst there's definitely an air of nervousness amongst us, try to keep things a bit more positive for both of ourselves. I don't want to go to the Capitol upset - the train ride there with my mother will be able to do that alone - and I don't think she wants to spend the next two weeks wallowing in sadness since it'll be hard enough to face watching the Games alone.

"Maybe you could do what Mom did?" Ivy suggests, looking at me with a hopeful smile.

Our mother, like many in the past from Seven, decided to appear weak purposefully and had told the Capitol in her interview to watch her. She killed the District Two Male and planted the weapon she used in the boy from One's hand, causing there to be an outbreak and fight amongst the Careers. That left only her and the boy from Nine, who she promptly killed. Many from Seven try this tactic but only a few succeed and, thankfully, my mother is one of them.

"Plus you have good healing knowledge," Ivy continues, the smile getting more confident by the second, "Theoretically you could keep making everyone turn on one another repeatedly so long as you have sponsors which, if you're that sneaky, you definitely will."

I nod, "Maybe. It's definitely an idea."

Another thing I have going on in my favour for the arena itself is that I'm definitely intimidating. Nobody's ever said it to be upfront but the way crowds part for me at school despite the way my family and I help the unfortunate definitely suggests an intimidation. It's a double-edged sword though; perhaps my intimidation won't be received as well as those from the Career districts or, worse, it's not liked at all and I'm targeted and without sponsors.

We sit in silence for a few more seconds before she leans over and hugs me tightly, her hand making soothing circular motions on my back. Whilst I'm definitely not trying to show off that I'm uncomfortable, I guess it's obvious enough but then again, who wouldn't be in my situation? I'm going to the Capitol to participate in the Hunger Games and, yes, whilst I'm one of the older tributes at seventeen and that means I have a better chance than some, there's just an equal chance that I'm not going to come home.

"Whatever happens, just know that I love you, okay?" She says into my ear and I can hear the desperation in her voice. I guess our allotted time together is coming to a close. "Just do whatever it takes to come home, yeah? Nobody's going to judge you for it, promise."

I wrap my arms around her, squeezing her back and I can feel her relax significantly in my hold, "I'll do whatever I can to come back home, I promise."

I can hear her exhale, as if she was worried that I might've resigned myself to death in the arena. She pulls away and I can see that her eyes are welling up with tears. She wears a solemn smile and nods, getting up and walking to the door. I suppose she wants to leave the room on her own terms, not when the Peacekeepers force her out.

"I'll see you in two weeks, right?"

For the first time in the entire goodbye section, a smile graces my lips and I nod, "Right."

* * *

 _Muffy Windhart, District Eight Female, 12 years old_

I kind of don't want my brother and father to come in for the Goodbyes, they'll just make me even more anxious than I already am. I mean, I've only _just_ recovered from passing out! I sit on the couch with a female Peacekeeper beside me who's sitting with me to make sure my breath's stabilised. Besides, I know I'm going to die in the arena - I'm only twelve! The youngest victor was fourteen and even then that was shocking to many. Honestly, anyone who believes I have any chance of winning is either too blind to see the reality of the situation, too ignorant to consider it, or are just being optimistic to make the twelve-year-old in question not feel as scared. Maybe.

It's not that I don't love my family because, despite their craziness and misplaced loyalty to the Capitol, I do love them but I'd rather this time be used for me to tie up loose ends (not that I have any really, I'm still only twelve) and say goodbye. It'd be even better if I could spend this time just coming to terms with it a little more than just knowing what my fate is going to be but I guess I'll have time for that in the Capitol.

For a few seconds I truly believe that my family hasn't come to say goodbye, probably expecting me to return home and then they can fuss over me but, sure enough, I hear a calamity outside and know my father and brother have come to see me off.

"Well, it's no volunteering Muffy but that must mean it's destiny!" My father says with an upbeat voice as he strides in, standing in front of the sofa that I sit on, crossing his arms. My brother stands beside him and nods.

"To think you'll be the first twelve-year-old victor," My brother continues with a delusional smile, "It'll be quite remarkable."

Sometimes I wonder about what type of people my parents were before my mother won her Games and they let the luxuries that came with that get to their heads. Likewise, I wonder how my brother was able to willingly buy into it despite the obvious effects of the Capitol not caring for District Eight being around him all the time. That's the one thing the people who bully me out of jealousy can hold some sympathy towards; my family is messed up and I'm trapped there. Perhaps being reaped wasn't such a bad thing then, in that consideration.

"I'll try my best," I say with a smile, hoping it'll subdue them. As I said, I know that there's a greater chance that I'll die rather than me surviving but me telling them that is an equivalent to insulting them to their faces and I'd rather not do that.

They both look at me up and down, trying to distinguish if my words are meant in a way that I'm alluding to me not winning (which, if I'm honest, is what I was trying to do) or me reaffirming that I'm going to continue this Windhart streak they've all conjured up in their minds. It takes them a few seconds before either of them make any sort of communication before my father nods.

"I'm sure your best will be nothing short of a spectacular victory!" My father says, face breaking out into a wide smile as he scoops me up in a tight hug - much to my protest because a hug from him is the last thing I want right now in a rational sense. No matter how absurd I think they are, I don't want my emotions being set off again.

Of course my brother joins in the hug, adding the words, "Third time's a charm!"

The Peackeeper comes to signal them to leave and they both wish me luck and that they can't wait to see me back home in a few weeks. As the door closes, I resign myself to the couch and run a hand through my hair, mind wandering to how they'll take my inevitable death.

* * *

 _Ellison Roderick, District Eight Male, 13 years old_

I don't have anyone that can come and visit me during the allocated goodbye time. Some acquaintances from school make an appearance but they're brief wishes of meaningless good luck (I'm thirteen, for crying out loud) and I can't really consider them apt sendoffs. Part of me wonders if the Peacekeeper assigned to watch over the room feels a little sorry for me; the atmosphere isn't as tense as I imagined it to be.

Instead, I just decide to watch a re-run of my father's Games that plays on the TV overhead so the time can pass a little quicker. I've never watched his Games in full - only snippets here and there at school; that's where most of my knowledge comes from anyway. Just one look of the arena and it's obvious it was based on a drug trip; some areas are a lot brighter with wildly vivid colours whilst other parts are a lot darker with shadows being seen running about. In general it's too bright to look at and I can see now why many tributes spent the nights moving - beyond the whole effect of the arena, it's brightness prevents any sort of comfortable slumber.

My father was among the best contenders that year and quickly won the hearts of the Capitolites. His story that he had of having a girlfriend he wanted to go home to touched the hearts of many, even if a lot of them thought it was puppy love. Having stronger build whilst retaining a more youthful face shocked the Capitol, as it always does, _especially_ when he scored a ten that year in training - the highest of any tribute that year. To top it off, his charisma and playful nature in both the Chariots and the Interviews just solidified the support he was taking away from the Careers. More people wanted him to win than to see someone from One, Two or Four win.

The scenes of the Games on the screen are just the highlights, but I've seen them enough to be proud of what my father achieved. In his Games he was able to kill three of the six Careers; the girls from One and Four and the boy from Two. All the kills he committed were stealthily executed; the girls being killed whilst they had split up from the rest of the Careers to hunt and the boy from Two in the final match where my father was able to lodge a knife in the back of the tribute's head during the fist fight. It's no wonder that my father is held in high regards as a victor in terms of surviving his arena as well; a lot of tributes were drove to insanity and taking their own lives as an escape from the monstrous mutts.

As the TV's scene now focuses on the final moments of my father's Games, I lean back and wonder if I can have the same effect as him. Sure I'm years younger, but with the knowledge he's given me, maybe I stand a chance? My father never trained me, refusing on the account that it brought him back to the arena and that the last thing he needs is to relapse and see me as an actual threat, but I've studied his Games enough how to work a basic knife. Sports at school has meant I know how to use my limbs to the best of their abilities and, being from Eight, I'm pretty good with my fingers - sometimes we're taken off from school to work in the factories or do the sewing to help create the garments. I suppose, should I need to be patched up with stitches, I should be alright.

That's the mentality I should have going to the Capitol - I'll be alright.

* * *

 _Peyton Francisco, District Nine Female, 14 years old_

When I was first reaped I was annoyed, angry at the Capitol because _of course_ I'd be chosen. I wouldn't be surprised if it was rigged, given my father being a desirable victor and all. I was scared though, but anyone would be. When you're from a non-Career district, your first thought is you're going to die because that's what happens. Perhaps I'm lucky that wasn't my _first_ thought. It wasn't even my second either - that was reserved for how unlucky I am to have Barley McLonrot's son as my district partner. Nobody likes Barley and the way he upturns his nose at the poorer parts of the District. I might be rebellious to my parents, but even I know that the poor didn't put themselves there. I'll say to Genevieva that I don't want to ally with him, I think.

It's a while before anyone comes to visit me but, sure enough, my mother walks into the room. It's clear she's been doing some crying - the way her eyes are red and puffy and the way she walks with a scare demeanour. She doesn't raise her head to look at me first, it previously being trained on the floor, but as soon as she sees my face she begins to weep again.

She sits beside me after I shuffle to accommodate her on the sofa. I _am_ teenage rebellion personified (or, so the teachers at school love to say) but seeing my mother like this pulls on a few heartstrings - albeit very lightly and somewhere amongst the emotions within me that even _I_ didn't know I was still capable of feeling. I can only imagine how hard it must be on her; her husband is one of the prized prostitutes of the Capitol and now her daughter is going into the Games against some who will have been training even longer than the standard seven-ish years of Career training. I suppose if I had a daughter and this was happening to her I'd be upset too, perhaps.

"If you're ever going to listen to your father for once in your life," My mother says behind a small smile, "Now's the time. He's your most valuable guide."

I nod, a small smile of my own appearing on my face, "I will."

My mother nods, inhaling deeply as she tilts her head upwards whilst dabbing away her tears, "That's a good girl."

She looks back at me, her smile leaving her face, "Just try your best, okay?" Her words become more progressively choked as she continues. "Your... Your father and I love you _so_ much Peyton and we want you to come home."

I hope being reaped hasn't ignited some soppy feelings within me; I don't need to break down in the arena whenever someone shows me the slightest _bit_ of kindness.

I nod, "I'll make sure not to let either of you down."

My mother's smile returns, a hand placing itself on my cheek, "Make sure you bring your attitude to the arena - I'm sure you'll have no trouble in making people intimidated of you. Just try not to make any enemies over it - _especially_ the Careers."

"I'll try not to," I say with an airy laugh, appreciating the subtle jokes my mother makes in an attempt to calm me down, probably.

The Peackeeper at the door begins to move, signalling that the goodbye should be wrapping up. Without hesitation, my mother envelopes me in her arms whilst I take a second to hug her back. For my mother who probably has to face the realisation her only child can die, I can look past the rebellious personality that I have. We hug each other tightly for a few seconds before she pulls away, cupping my face in her hands before taking her leave.

* * *

 _Cleave McLonrot-Roneban, District Nine Male, 15 years old_

The first people that come to visit me is the family that lives with me, the Roneban's. The only people that maybe saved me from reaping, given that the addition of their name is what summoned me to the stage. I don't bother to repeat the question I had this morning as I've come to now know that, yes indeed, I am _that_ Barley McLonrot's son. My mind wanders back momentarily to the gossip around school; about how one of his sons, Bran, had a twin brother who was abandoned at birth and nobody really knew if the child had died or was adopted by one of the homeless families. People always said that Bran and I were similar to one another, but I had never once believed myself to be that abandoned child, the unwanted child. Hearing my name called out as son of Barley McLonrot, however, confirms that I was that child and all those rumours I partook in were about me.

I've been in here a while, trying to cool off after my anger outburst on stage. I can only imagine what Genevieva is going to say but, quite frankly, I don't think I could care any less if I tried. I sit in the middle of the couch with my arms crossed tightly across my chest, glaring at the screen that neatly shows how my _father_ played his Games. The Roneban's had come in and settled themselves around me, my mother showing a hesitancy to hug me but did so after a few seconds.

"Barley should be happy," She says after a few seconds of silence, probably relishing in the hug, "You're probably going to get further than his other son would any day. You might be able to bring him that little bit of honour that he so desperately wants."

Her words are strangely reassuring to me, albeit not by much, and Philip and Reed chime in about how they're sure I'll be able to win and I do believe them, but it'll be all very dependent on how much I can learn during the training period. Just on victor parents alone, Peyton has the better chance of getting all of the sponsors because her father remains to this day as one of the Capitol's most favourite victors. My father, on the other hand? It's no secret that those in the Capitol almost loathe him as much as we do here in Nine. So, based on sponsors? I can only be so optimistic.

The rest of our time is spent exchanging words of confidence and hugs. Reed hands me the bandanna he always wears, the faded red one that's become equated to him by most Peacekeepers in the district.

The next people who come to visit me, I don't expect them. It takes them a few minutes after my family leave but, sure enough, the family of Barley McLonrot - my biological family - walk through the door. There's his wife, daughter and son - my mother, sister and brother respectively. As soon as she walks in, my biological mother winces at my skin. I guess vitiligo isn't too common in Panem, especially for a victor to abandon his child. The younger girl, Lilly, has a sympathetic and almost grateful look on her face whilst Bran, my _twin_ , just looks shocked and slightly remorseful.

We sit in a painfully awkward silence for a few moments before my mother clears her throat.

"At least you found a home," She says, looking at me for a second and meeting my gaze. I can feel the anger burning up inside of me but, from all of the rumours, we heard that it was largely Barley's decision to give the child up and that his wife was a little more reluctant to do so. Regardless, she clearly didn't fight hard enough for me to stay "I hope you come home so we can move forwards."

The small smile on her face, and especially the larger one on her daughter's, indicate an acceptance of what they did and a willingness to move forward but only if I shared the same willingness which, quite frankly, I don't know if I can ever do.

The large majority of their visit it spent in silence, it being the first time since my birth that we've spent time in one another's company. My sister mentions how she looked so long for me and how she could at least know she saw me and Bran - Bran gives me a watch as my token. It's handed to me with an awkward smile, one that reaffirms to me that he's finding this as weird and as hard as I am. How could he not? I bet the last person he thought his rumoured missing twin was the guy he once did a project with at school.

We end the visit with a very awkward hug, but I suppose one that gives my mother, sister and brother closure of some kind, knowing that if I die at least they attempted to make amends. As the door closes, I bury my head into a pillow and let out a scream - it's way too early for all of this.

* * *

 _Tressa Fairbain, District Ten Female, 18 years old_

As my mother's taking my father's place as my mentor, she can't come and visit me, meaning it'll be a pretty dull hour since she's one of the only ones that I can bear to talk to. I glance at the screen that replays my father's Games but because I watched the rerun this morning on the district-wide television, I don't really want to pay any attention to it; it can't tell me anything new that I don't already know.

A few people from school come to visit me first, friends and acquaintances who figure that I'd appreciate them coming to say goodbye to me. Whilst I do appreciate the sentiment, I have all intentions of returning home and thus the need to say goodbye to me isn't really there since I'll see them all again. None of those goodbyes last any longer than them wishing me luck, maybe a light hug, before they excuse themselves. It's probably to relieve any guilt that could arise just in case I die, since everyone knows I have intentions of coming home - my volunteering confirms that.

I know we only get one hour for people to come visit us and, after the last of my friends come, I have about a half an hour wait before the next visitor arrives. I'm standing by the window by the time they come in and, for every other person that's visited me, they've told me who they were so it takes me a second or two to realise someone's in the room with me. I assume maybe it's the timid girl from my class who just wants to be forever nice, or maybe someone who's had a crush on me but, when I turn, I realise it's the person I least expected to come visit me.

Lilianne.

At first we just stare at each other, the tension amongst ourselves being painfully obvious. It's clear she resents me - how could she not? She wanted to volunteer but was reaped and I volunteered over her. But, on the flip side, it was my last chance to volunteer whilst she still has a couple of chances - neither of us made a compromise so I did what I had to do in the heat of the moment to ensure I could do what I wanted to do. We remain silent. What words are there to say? We could go in circles with the argument and however much I can look past it to ensure that we can say goodbye, she has other ideas.

"You couldn't let anyone else but yourself have the glory, could you?" She screeches at me, a finger pointing accusingly.

I expected her reaction to be like this but, nevertheless, it still stuns me a little. It's in my silence that she takes the chance to dig at me deeper.

"You have a crippled leg Tressa! How do you think you're going to succeed? District Ten could've had a winner with me and instead we'll get what, maybe one tribute out of the bloodbath? It's fine, everyone'll root for Citron and not you."

What she says next is what strikes the biggest nerve.

"You'll bring shame on Dad's name, mark my words."

"Isn't that you?" I retaliate, hearing the venom in my words, "After all, you were the one who did the cheap tactic of injury me, _you_ were the one who was reaped and not volunteered and _you_ , Lilianne, froze when I volunteered and did nothing about it."

I don't know if she thought that her words would render me into being unable to reply or what I said in retaliation was enough to make her speechless but, regardless, she remains silent before ripping the silver hair clip that she had been wearing and throwing it on the floor in front of me.

"I hope this reminds you that you're nothing than a loser!" She screams at me, "I was supposed to be going in - _not_ you!"

With that, she storms out and I walk over to the clip, pick it up and smirk. It'll be a reminder of how I asserted my dominance over her yet again.

* * *

 _Citron Saddleback, District Ten Male, 16 years old_

The desire to have a sibling is stronger than ever now, mostly so then I'd have someone to talk to as I wait for the allotted goodbye time to be up. If it was any other Games my mother would be allowed to come and see me but, considering she's my mentor, I guess the Capitol decided it'd be unfair and that we'd have enough time to say goodbye in the Capitol. I guess that's true but still, it doesn't make this hour any easier.

It takes them a while, but at least Dale and Maroon do come to visit me and are able to spend a decent chunk of the time I have - courtesy of the Peacekeeper who probably feels a little sorry for me. From the few features I can see, I'm sure it's one of those Ten natives who joined the force for a better life, rather than loyalty to the Capitol. I'm not completely unaware of my mother's initial payment of them to be my friends - they told me about it and have reassured me since that they don't take payments from her anymore because they enjoy spending time with me. I appreciate her sentiment but, as I can always joke, a sibling would eliminate the need to pay for friends.

As I said, it does take them a while but when they are allowed in, they come bounding in and sit beside me, showering me in ways I can win.

"Most other tributes, even the Careers, haven't seen as much blood as you," Dale says with a nod, "When other tributes crack under seeing it, you'll be able to thrive."

Maroon is quick to agree with his own nod and input, "As long as you get something you can hack, you'll have a good shot!"

I nod along with them, understanding the advantages that I have, though I have one question that I've been meaning to ask my mother. I'm good at killing _animals_ , not people.

"Animals are different though," I say, "You can't understand them when they try and get out of it - with humans you can."

Dale and Maroon look at each other before Dale clears his throat, "Is it any different? Just block out the noise as you would with an animal making any noise."

There's a few seconds before Maroon nods too, "Right? If you can do that, it'll be easy."

Now it's my term to stay silent. You'd think after years of watching the Games that we'd all be immune to the thought of killing but I guess we're not - at least in District Ten we have the advantage of not grimacing at blood. Sometimes that's how tributes give one another enough time to be killed.

The Peacekeeper moves, signalling for them that it's their time to go. We all share one final group hug, them whispering encouraging things in my ear and wishing me luck. They tell me things like they know I can come home because I have the power to do so. I make sure to thank them, both for their words and for being my friends all these years and making sure I'm not lonely - although there's a chance I could come home, there's an equal chance that I won't and I don't want to face my death without them knowing how grateful I am.

It's their turn to smile at my words and they leave and I'm left alone again. My eyes wander to the TV screen and I decide that I'm going to fight until the very end.

* * *

 _Persephone Sherwood, District Eleven Female, 13 years old_

When I get into the room and I'm by myself I let the tears flow freely. I know that the cameras didn't miss the way they were welling up in my eyes, but at least when I'm by myself I feel a little less guilty and conscious of letting them flow. It was all too much, being reaped. My older siblings told me that I wouldn't get reaped because it was my second reaping and my name was only in there _twice_. Seeing their faces of hurt, shock and confusion as I stood on the stage overlooking my district was too much; some of them looked like they were about to cry themselves and I'm sure I heard my mother choke back some tears.

Knowing that my mother and siblings are all going to come in and spend some time with me, I decide to watch the TV that plays a rerun of my father's Games. It's showing the parts on how he stalked the arena during the day and, thanks to the skill of being able to climb high, he was able to climb high enough to be undetected at night. He got a surprising number of kills despite being fifteen and nearly dying in the Bloodbath; my father was a tribute of stealth and picked off many tributes from behind and above. I'm sure if I continue to watch the TV that his kills will be shown but I divert my attention to my hands, cupping them within one another.

As I thought, it's not long until my mother and siblings come in, all of them immediately coming over to me and cuddling me, showering me in kisses. I am the youngest after all and the last one any of us expected to get reaped. The chance was there, increased because of the Quell, but _none_ of us thought I'd actually be in true danger.

"It should've been one of us," One of my older sisters says, wiping away her tears with her thumb, "We're at least bigger and could take a few hits."

Whilst her words don't sound encouraging, nor do they give me the confidence I probably need, I know she's right. At least with one of them they might not be targeted so soon. As one of the younger tributes, I'll be an easy kill to help rack up a decent kill count.

"At least she's trained for it," One of my older brothers chimes in, "She has a deadly aim, according to what Dad says."

There's a murmur of agreement amongst my siblings and, all the while, my mother cups my face in her hands and wipes away the residue of tears with her thumbs.

"Persephone, whatever you do, try to make it as far as you can, okay?" She says, her voice cracking as tears threaten to spill at any moment, "None of us will judge you, got it? Whatever happens in that arena stays there - we just want you home."

I nod immediately, the reassurance that I can do whatever I need to do in the arena to come home comforting me, not only in knowing that I won't be judged but also it shows my mother has faith in my abilities. I might be small and I might be young, but I'm positive I have an aim that can rival that of the Careers and I'll make sure to use that to my advantage.

The final thing my mother does before they have to go is slip onto my wrist my father's corded bracelet - the one he's never seen without. For a moment I wonder where she got it from, but she seems to have read my mind as she smiles softly at me.

"He wanted you to be given the token in Eleven and not on the way to the Capitol."

Their visit ends with each of them kissing me and hugging me tightly, giving me words of encouragement that I'll come back home.

* * *

 _Monterey Walker, District Eleven Male, 18 years old_

At least Vernal wasn't reaped. We can both still have a life; I'll win the Games and come back home and he'll grow up without being reaped. Those are the two thoughts that are dominating my mind and, quite honestly, it gives me a sense of comfort. I knew the luck I had as my mother's son would grow thin one day - albeit I didn't expect it to be so soon - but I'm glad Vernal's luck is holding out for him.

I sit on the couch as I wait for visitors to come, hands running through my hair as I attempt to alleviate myself of some of the stress I'm feeling. I'm not usually an anxious or stressed person, seeing the positive things in life more, but I've just been reaped for the Hunger Games, I think I'm allowed to feel a little stressed. In two weeks or so I'll be thrown into the arena and will have to fight for my life and fight for the right to come back home and see Sakura and Blossom again. Thinking about the two of them on top of Vernal makes me sad. I know Alexandria will use my appearance for all it's worth and I'll probably get told to act stoic and intimidating, but I can't help but risk tears when I think about the potential of not seeing them again. Oh well, maybe vulnerability could be my helping hand.

I can only assume the three of them are being held up outside and that's why they haven't come to visit us yet; our family is known for giving so I'm sure a lot of people we've helped are giving their condolences ahead of time before Vernal and Sakura more than likely lock themselves away in our house in the Victor's Village throughout the entirety of the Games. During the time I wait, my eyes train on different things around the room - I don't watch the TV with my mother's Games on it, preferring to do that with her so she can talk me through her thought process.

As I thought, it takes them a few minutes but soon Vernal and Sakura holding Blossom burst into the room, Vernal closing the door urgently behind him, more than likely not wanting to waste any time. Although Sakura's wailing had made Blossom cry when I was reaped, my daughter now doesn't have a care in the world and just smiles and gurgles. Instinctively, I relieve Sakura of holding Blossom and bounce her gently on my lap; the last thing I want is her getting upset in our last few moments together.

"You've got a good chance of coming home," Sakura says to me, still sniffing slightly and running a hand through her hair, "Just, _please_ come how Monterey, please..."

I can hear the desperation in her voice and if that didn't threaten to make me feel sad, Vernal's agreement was enough of a contender.

"Yeah, you have to come home," he says, nodding, "I'm not ready to lose you."

I shake my head a little, leaning over and ruffling his hair like I used to, "You won't - I'll try my best to come home, promise."

There's a silence among us, words not really being said to convey the emotions we're all feeling. Going into the arena is intimidating enough on it's own but to add the fact that my daughter might be losing her father on top of it? The stakes are higher than ever for me to come back home and, at this point, I know I'll be doing whatever I can to ensure that it becomes a reality.

We all have group hugs and I make sure to whisper in Sakura's ear that no matter what happens she'll be able to get through it because she's strong enough to. I give Vernal an extra tight hug, ruffling his hair for the last time and I shower Blossom in love, just in case this is the last time I see her.

As they leave, I sit myself down and begin to plan the strategy that'll bring me back home.

* * *

 _Brin Juniper Davis, District Twelve Female, 16 years old_

It warms my heart to see quite a few people come to visit me during the allotted time. They're mostly people I've helped in the past, some even being those I just handed one plate of food to when I had the chance, but each of them thank me and allude that they're upset that I of all people are reaped. As soon as the quell was announced it was known that I'd be entering the arena so people have been saying their goodbyes ever since, so I'm shocked to see a load of people still coming to say goodbye. It makes me happy; it means that, should I die, I can die knowing I left a positive imprint in Twelve.

Although I'm humbled and happy to have received so many goodbyes, I heavily anticipate my father's visit. He's definitely the parent I'm closer to and the thought of leaving him makes me sad and, if I could help it, I wouldn't be leaving him at all. Besides, I'd rather discuss my strategy for the arena with him before bringing it up to my mother. It's not that I don't love her or trust her as much as I do my father, it's just that her Games broke her. I don't blame her; the re-run of her Games shows how she was just a relentless machine when it came to killing, being branded as a maniac whereas in reality she just wanted to get home. She was only fifteen too. I can only imagine so many years of harsh judgement and watching those you train die year after year can really break a person.

My father is one of the last visitors and I'm sure had he been any later, he wouldn't have been able to say goodbye.

Instantly, as he steps in, he envelopes me in a hug, squeezing me tightly.

"I knew this part was coming," he says, squeezing me a little harder, "But I can't believe it's here already."

I shake my head, "Me neither."

We stay like this, hugging each other tightly as if it's the last time we'll be able to and, quite frankly, it might be.

"But," I say as I move away, smiling at him a little, "There's a chance I could be coming home, right? I just need to perfect my strategy."

Ever since the quell was announced my father and I have been discussing what strategy I should use in the arena, sometimes with the odd help from my mother who chimes in with little facts that she herself had gathered. From it, we've been able to create the perfect strategy for me.

"Are you still going to go for the understated approach?" My father asks me as we sit down on the sofa, an arm still wrapped around me protectively.

I nod, "I think it might be my best chance, right?"

"It might be, but there'll be eyes on you regardless being as you're your mother's daughter _and_ the only Twelve girl eligible."

What my father says is right; going into the Capitol I've got attention on me due to the way my mother won and how I was doomed from the moment the quell was announced, but still, I could try my hardest to go as understated as possible before revealing my true talents.

A nod of agreement on my part evokes a whole new conversation where we consider what I'd do in certain situations; what I'd do at the Bloodbath, the Feast and, perhaps most importantly, should I be part of the final two. I think the knowledge that in less than an hour I'll be whisked away to the Capitol where I may come home in a few weeks alive and well or in a box, is that rejuvenates our thought process.

Our precious allotted time of goodbye ends with my father giving me a necklace which I recognise immediately. It's the necklace my mother got when she won her Games. Roped with a diamond in the middle, it's nothing short of stunning and I can only guess he was given it to give to me so we could have one final moment of closeness as father and daughter. Before he hugs me tightly, he stands behind me and puts the necklace on.

Now, with a piece of my parents always with me, I become more confident that I can win these Games.

* * *

 _Kieran Apollo, District Twelve Male, 17 years old_

Nobody comes to say goodbye to me during this allocated time to do so. Anyone who ever cared about me before said goodbye in the days leading up to today - I guess going and seeing me here in the Justice Building was enough of an inconvenience to offhandedly say a condolence or a wish of good luck. Not that I need it; the odds of me coming home aren't in my favour, especially when you consider that some of the most brutal Career Victors have their offspring eligible for volunteering. I'd be shocked if we didn't have a Career Victor this year.

It doesn't matter in general though - I don't think I could handle anyone coming to say goodbye given what happened this morning. Verbal and physical altercations between my parents aren't unusual; it's only natural that my mother who protects me so much would clash with the man who loves to berate and degrade me whenever he can. Both believe their parenting style to be superior and, if I had to choose, I'd side with my mother. What makes this time standout, however, is _how far_ they took it or, should I say, how far my father took it.

I've seen my mother with bruises and cuts but to see her on the floor, blood coming from a head injury? The thought and memory of it sickens me, it still being a raw image. How could it not? It happened less than an hour ago. The look on my father's face is one that I couldn't identify then and, trying to think back on it, I can't discern his emotions. His eyes showed a mix of regret, remorse but also a triumph - it was as if injuring my mother in such a way teleported him back to the time where he was in the arena and injuring someone like that was praiseworthy. I don't want to think about it.

Instead, my eyes trail to the TV. I don't need to look at it long to know it's a re-run of my father's Games; the setting of the four islands are all too familiar. The day currently being shown is the third day. It was the day that my father, a volunteer from Twelve who had joined the Careers, had betrayed them. He killed the girl from Two, the biggest threat, in her sleep and as the rest of them woke up he killed them one by one. The girl from One was able to escape him and ended up in the final two with him. The way he killed was a rather interesting way; he gave her cardiac concussion as she hacked away at him which allowed him to get the upper hand and win. I suppose, upon reflection, it's no wonder my father feels particularly powerful when he gets physical.

Although part of me knows that continuing to watch the reel is within my best interest to refresh myself on my father's victory so, should he reference any part of it, I'd be able to get it, but it makes me feel sick. I get up off the sofa and walk to the window, watching as the population of Twelve migrate from the front of the Justice Building to the back where myself and Brin will be taken to the car which'll take us to the train station. We already know that there's a ton of attention on us; being from the only district where our participation in the Games as per the Quell was guaranteed has ensured that, allegedly, the Capitol has taken an interest on us and it's up to us to not disappoint.

I sigh as I close the curtains - hopefully I'll be able to get through this no matter the outcome.

* * *

 **So here's the long awaited chapter!**

 **I'm incredibly sorry about the wait; I guess trying to write twelve POVs worth wasn't as muse-inducing as I had thought originally (fun fact, this took me over two weeks to write all in all).**

 **But, nevertheless! Here's an update. We'll be getting into the Capitol in no time!**

 **As before, has any opinions changed? Let me know!**

 **Updates for my other stories as well as missed reviews I owe will be coming within the next couple of days!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy~!**

 **\- Oli**


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